Random Dreams
by Levity Lirum
Summary: Random one-shots that may evolve into stories. Things I haven't seen before. Crossovers and AU. Usually involves traditional fairytales and superstition. Mostly serious and can be adopted if you want one of my Bunnies of Caerbannog.
1. To Dance A Fairy's Ring

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, entites of folklore or the majority of the quotes.**

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><p>They <em>knew<em> he didn't want to go back there. They _knew_ why.

-_They knew, __**knew, KNEW, **__my Dove!-_

Damaged as she was, he knew Aunt Petunia tried to help him as much as she could, what little she could.

_-Poor and crushed, oh tragic Flower-_

He wasn't even thirteen yet, but he'd made plans. Made a Will. The Goblins knew what to do.

-_Where there's a Will, there's a contester to said Will.-_

The Goblins had tried to help him as much as they could, even with both their hands and feet tied. The only thing dearer to them than gold was a child.

-_These children are my very own to hold; who are more valuable then any gold.-_

Once, when Vernon was away on a business trip and Dudley was having a sleepover at Piers', Aunt Petunia had closed the blinds and cleared the lounge room so she could teach him to dance ballet. It was the kindest thing she ever did, but such times only came about once every month or so.

-_On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; /No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet/ To chase the glowing hours with flying feet!-_

The Goblins sent him a tube of old fraying parchment in dead of night the night before he was to return to the Dursleys. It detailed a ritual involving an old, forgotten Dance. It didn't say what would happen exactly, but that once the ritual started, the one who started Dancing would know the steps, and if they could complete the Dance, they would be reborn. If they could not finish the Dance, they would merely die.

-_There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death.-_

He sent a note of Goodbye to Aunt Petunia and did not board the train, choosing to find a glade in the Forbidden Forest instead. He set up the circle and waited for moonrise.

_-Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (Goodbye)/ It was always you that I despised/I don't feel enough for you to cry (Oh Well) /Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (Goodbye)...-_

The oddly blue light of the moon rose over the tree-tops, bathing the glade in shades of grey and midnight blue, the stars gleaming like a river in the clear sky, as Harry carved the elegant Runes into his skin with the Ritual Quill, stopping the flow of blood until the ritual demanded it. Then he moved to the centre of the glade and spoke the words.

_-In a dancer, there is a reverence for such forgotten things as the miracle of the small beautiful bones and their delicate strength.-_

He wasn't really aware of the blood that flowed down his spindly, knobby limbs, already decorated with scars, nor of the Hogwarts Professors that were suddenly banging on the shimmering, whirling blue shield that was linked between the trees. There was only the lightness, the happiness, the unthinking freedom of movement that came with dancing and flying.

_-Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.-_

There was a soft murmuring under the slow, ponderous, melancholy music that was so unbearably beautiful, the world spiralling around as he danced through a field of stars.

_-Dance is the hidden language of the soul.-_

The centaurs and unicorns watched from the shadows of the forest as the human mages tried to break the circle called up by the Old Aos Sí Magiks embedded in the land herself, heads tilted as they listened to the melancholy Song of Harry Potter, some weeping and the rest sombre.

_-To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful.-_

The Music reached its end when the moon reached its peak, Harry having not lived long enough for his Music to have reached the heights and lengths of the adults who would usually have shown their Dance to the Good Neighbours in hope of gaining favour, but it was longer than most his age, having seen and felt much in his short life. He stood and swayed, half aware of the murmuring quieting down while the yelling and commanding outside the circle suddenly peaked. A figure approached from the shadows of a tree.

_-I knew a man who once said, "death smiles at us all; all a man can do is smile back."-_

Even in the darkness of night, the moon and stars provided enough light for Harry to see the man. He was of slightly under average height and with a slender build; black tribal tattoos on the dark, rich blue of his bare torso and long inky hair tumbling in loose waves around him to the backs of his leather-clad knees. The sharp-faced man, the Aos Sí, held out a dark hand, dark eyes and lips smiling. Harry smiled and reached back.

_-Come away, O human child!/ To the waters and the wild/ With a faery hand in hand,/ For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.-_

On another plane, the witches and wizards screamed and wailed as the body of the boy toppled over dead, a smile still on his lips.

_-__Suicide is man's way of telling God, "You can't fire me - I quit."-_

The funeral was overdone and much lied about. Dumbledore told the world that Harry Potter was murdered by Death Eaters, not willing to admit that the child he rested his hopes on had broken and killed himself before being of proper use. Only an odd little Second Year, daisies in her hair and a four-leaf clover behind her ear, saw the two people at the edge of the crowd disappear into the shadows, skin like sapphires, and smiled. She skipped back to her father, singing under her breath;

"_Angels, pixies, faerie dust/ Treading love and living lust."_

__

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><p><em>I was listening to <span>Room of Angels <span>from Silent Hill 4 while writing this._

_Most of the quotes can be found at **The Quote Garden. **_

__

_Cheers!_


	2. Black Winged Dreams

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Angel Sanctuary**

Fairly AU crossover between Harry Potter and Angel Sanctuary, whereby Harry is a reincarnated Angel.

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><p>The Harry that existed in his Dreams was much different from the Harry of Reality.<p>

Dream Harry was older, tireder. He was seeped in Regrets and Sorrow and Want that Real Harry couldn't understand, all hidden behind a self-serving, hedonistic mask of uncaring cruelty; heavy-lidded dark eyes regarding the anguished faces of his loved ones under thick lashes and cigarette smoke, appearing supremely disinterested while his heart twisted like a wash-cloth in his chest.

Real Harry loved Dream Harry, even if he wasn't real, offering the uncomprehending sympathy of one who knows something horrible had happened without knowing enough of the world to comprehend what that horrible thing was.

Still, like Real Harry, Dream Harry was surrounded by people he couldn't trust, who would hurt him given the chance, and Real Harry learnt how to deal with people from the Dream Harry because he couldn't rely on the Dursleys to help him understand people.

Real Harry loved Dream Harry very much.

**(space)**

By the time Harry was seven, the Dreams had ebbed off into distorted impressions that were more emotion and blurred light than anything else.

He often dreamed of flying on long black wings, instilling a calmness in him that soothed any anger he felt at the world.

Harry knew how to fight like second nature, so no one ever tied to bully him after he put his cousin Dudley into something called 'traction'. The policewoman (who was very nice) softly chatted to him about why he would do something like that to his family while they waited for the Dursleys and other police officers to finish talking with the people in suits.

"He is not family." Harry remembered saying, an odd presence pushing him to speak. "Family does not hurt each other."

The policewoman had frowned and knelt down. "And does Dudley hurt you often?"

Harry had looked her in the eye, something he never did to adults, and said. "Not as much as Uncle Vernon does."

The policewoman had smiled oddly and given him a minty before going over to speak to the man in the suit. He vaguely heard the words 'psychologist', 'child services' and 'abused'.

He was taken away from the Dursleys after that and never heard from them again, though he spent a long time in a hospital full of bright colours and nice nurses.

**(space)**

When Harry turned eleven, he was at summer camp for the gifted.

Harry was extremely gifted in anything that had to do with fighting and tactics, was a junior regional champion in fencing, and was partway through year ten academics by correspondence.

He was expected to finish years eleven and twelve in the next school year. He had already been offered places at both the military and law enforcement.

Harry had heard that a large, rough looking man had tried to enter the camp looking for him and was on his guard when the tall man in a sleek black suit and shoulder-length black hair came to see him.

**(space)**

Professor Snape regarded the boy who had caused unspeakable disruption in the Wizarding World, resulting in Albus Dumbledore being stripped of several of his titles (including all the titles regarding children) when a woman from muggle child services had commented to her wizard older brother from S.S&W. Solicitors that she had worked on a case involving a boy called Harry Potter. As S.S&W. had been the Potter's Solicitors for more than fifty years and had been assured Harry had not been sent to his Aunt's home, a full investigation and many lawsuits had followed.

Severus had had his fair share of working with abused children, and he could clearly see that Lily's boy was emotionally damaged, probably beyond repair. The side look given and the hooded dark green eyes as he regarded the imposing man was less child meeting scary stranger and more werewolf looking at something odd it had caught and was deciding whether to eat it or not.

Some small part of the wizard was tensely waiting for the boy to put the fencing rapier down.

**(space)**

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall found something inherently tragic in the the dark, quiet, oddly beautiful child who had been Sorted into Ravenclaw.

It had been after the twelfth time in the first month he had been found wandering the castle after curfew and had stirred quite a bit of enmity from the older years that she had had to remove the House Point System. When she had announced it to the school (amidst mass uproar from the students) she had coldly informed the residents of the castle that not only would she no longer tolerate the frankly disturbing, bitter rivalry between the houses, but she would also not encourage a system that encourages the upper years to brutalise the fragile lower years.

Flitwick had been horrified when he found out that the three seventh year Ravenclaws she had literally thrown out the school gates in disgrace had put Harry Potter, someone all the teachers and prefects knew to be careful dealing with, in not the Hospital Wing, but the St Mungos Emergency Ward for losing seven hundred points in the first month.

After the massive stuff-up of Albus -no, Dumbledore - Minerva had been ignoring and stopping any attempt the man made to try to contact her or anyone in the castle. Fawkes, now known to the world not at Dumbledore's Familiar, but the Familiar of the School, had been assisting in this endeavour, burning any letters to pass onto the grounds before reaching their intended recipient.

She had also set up a mandatory mail check by the House Elves to remove Howlers and other detrimental or cursed objects. Anyone sending a Howler was sent a reply informing the sender that such behaviour was unacceptable and, unless they came to the castle for a hearing, none of their letters or packages would get through.

A list of possible classes had turned up on her desk at the beginning of the year. Thinking them over, Minerva had sent a survey to every student in the school to see what they would like to be taught, followed by a massive overhaul of the school system of Hogwarts.

On the subject of Mr Potter, once he finished his correspondence muggle courses, she didn't exactly expect him to remain in the school for more than three years as had already tested out of most of the First Year classes by the end of the second month.

And he still wandered after curfew.

**(space)**

When Harry found the Mirror of Erised in an out of the way classroom, he had bought it from the school for more than it was worth.

His reflection was not of his parents, as most would think. Instead he was the barely remembered Dream Harry with straight black hair falling around his neck and jaw; pale, handsome face; black, heavy-lidded eyes with a black flame tattoo over his left eye and large black wings.

A short boy with violet eyes and wild blood-coloured hair was wrapped around his shoulders, large white-gold wings arched high and a dragon tattoo down the left side of his face. A beautiful, motherly woman with tumbling mahogany hair stood in the background, arms folded tolerantly, and three white wings folded carefully.

(**space)**

Lucifer murmured sleepily in the back of his human host's mind.

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><p>The King of Hell has a surprising amount of protential as both Lucifer and Kira. The situation, given the stuff that happens in that manga, is actually pretty believable.<p> 


	3. One and Only

**_Disclaimer:__I own neither Harry Potter nor AVATAR._**

Random plot that occured to me as I was driving. Don't have the interest or inclination at the moment to follow it, so if you wanna run with this plot bunny, go for it.

The title is from the song 'One and Only' by Timbaland and Fall Out Boy.

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><p>Harry chewed the wad of gum absently, waiting for the ship to land on Pandora with the rest of his squad.<p>

Age twenty-one (twenty-six if you counted the cryostasis), Harry Potter was the commander of the three S.W.E.E.P.E.R. (Special Weapons, Ethics Evaluations, Personnel Extraction and Reconnaissance) Squads sent to Pandora by Luna Lovegood-Potter, new CEO and majority shareholder of RDA (Harry just knew it was a good idea to adopt Luna and abdicate the lord title in favour of the blond) to investigate both corruption and whispers of Hate Crimes against the Na'vi carried out by order of Colonel Miles Quaritch and Head Admin. Director Parker Selfridge.

Luna and Harry were especially disgusted by the strong rumours that a group of RDA soldiers had massacred a school of Na'vi children over broken machinery.

Harry glanced up as the speaker declared imminent landing and pulled the breathing apparatus on, manoeuvring the straps around the small braids collected up into a mildly elaborate high ponytail, the braids then falling freely to his waist and tied off with bone beads inscribed with Norse Runes.

Ginny had actually 'left' him when he refused to get rid of them, expecting him to cut them off and come crawling back. What she didn't realise was that there was not, nor had there been since sixth year, a 'them'.

Hermoine had left Ron as soon as he made it clear that he expected her to be a stay-at-home mother and was on the next ship with the incoming science, medical and admin. transfers.

Ron was a layabout mooching off his parents and war pension.

Harry adjusted the almost-newest model of the FN P90 semi-automatic and made a motion with his head that said 'fall in'.

The hatch to the shuttle began to open as the ship touched down, letting in the mildly blue-tinged atmosphere of Pandora.

The young wizard glanced over his shoulder at the three squad leaders, Neville 'The Mongoose' Longbottom, Bill Weasley and Hermoine's cousin, former Army Ranger Captain Alexis 'Lex' Ryder.

"Light up, people."

Almost as one, the mix of muggles, magicals and middles (squibs) reached down and lit up the signal beacon attached to their belts, monitoring their position and heart-rate.

The ramp/door hit the ground and Harry marched out, braids swinging, followed by the Sweepers who spread out slightly.

Team One, lead by Mongoose, was to hang around the landing field and quietly take over the walls around the landing pad.

Team Two, under Bill, was to split up once inside, two to go to the science facilities and inform Dr Augustine that the place was under new leadership with the changed of hands of the RDA, three, including a specialist, were to find the air filtration system for the base and spike the 'fresh' air with sleeping gas, while the remainders of the team were to quietly take control of as many of the guard-towers and gun turrets as possible.

Lex and Team Three were to come with Harry and seize control of the control tower, take Quaritch and Selfridge into custody and jam communications until the base was under complete control, not wanting the sudden influx of patrols being called back in as back-up.

Not waiting for the welcome committee to begin their spiel, Harry strode past the man towards the main entrance doors.

**(space)**

Three hours later, Harry was going through Quaritch's personal journal entries, and was feeling sick.

At the very best, the man had an extreme case of battle fatigue and probably PTSD. At worst, the monster was a rabid dog with little empathy that should be put down with extreme prejudice.

Quaritch knew about the 'new' change of directives (most notably the one that pretty much said 'NO TOUCHY THE NA'VI!'), but had made sure that the directives was not received by either Selfridge or Augustine.

Selfridge was greedy, but not needlessly cruel. Most of his actions could be explained by the extremely edited 'directives' Quaritch sent him and his blatant lack of a backbone.

And Dr Augustine...was conspicuously absent along with two other AVATARs, their drivers and a pilot.

Hermoine's screeches of outrage and discontent preceded her to the office where she screeched what had been going on as told to her by Dr. Max Patel. This was followed by Harry stalking out of the office and into the Communications tower, lashing out with a boot to kick the bound Selfridge on the way.

A command went out to all posts, patrols and mining teams, telling them to drop what their doing, pack their personal belongings and return to Hell's Gate immediately. Including the group sent to clear the sacred Na'vi site, The Tree Of Voices.

It was either fortunate, or unfortunate, that Quaritch and his most fanatical followers had been tranquillised and extradited to the return vessel in orbit, as Harry really wanted to mangle something.

**(space)**

In the end, with so many upset soldiers around, Harry decided that everyone not vouched for by Max Patel was sedated in their rooms and tended to by medical staff while they worked their way down the lists of names by career and alphabet, waking up the people and having them evaluated by the five new base psychiatrists/ counsellors that Selfridge (meaning Quaritch) found superfluous.

After three months, the final report stated that eighty-seven percent of the military personnel stationed on Pandora were unfit for duty for either racial discriminations, psychopathy, battle fatigue, PTSD, Stockholm's Syndrome or a mix. Many of the administrative and medical staff had been blackmailed into staying or were too afraid of the military aspects they had to go through to request a transfer off Pandora. The miners were intimidated by both the natives and the military. The janitors and cooks were essentially slaves.

Almost everyone who came on the latest shipment had to stay on Pandora until the next ship came in a year and a half.

Though the trips were pretty much five year voyages, one of the first things Luna did was commission more ships for a more regular supply drop and transfer.

**(space)**

About a week after the -ahem- change in command, Harry's tall, long haired AVATAR quietly padded through the forest, barefoot, towards the mobile link shack and camouflaged Samson secluded in Na'vi territory.

Looking in the flexi-glass window, Harry spotted the female pilot, Trudy Chacon, staring blankly at a wall while all three link stations were in use, presumably by the AVATAR drivers.

Harry tapped on the window, causing the woman's head to snap around and clutch the machine gun protectively.

He held up a manila file, speaking through the glass. "I have a report for Dr Augustine regarding the change of leadership at the RDA. As the remaining most senior personnel, she has been call back to Hell's Gate for debriefing and probably a promotion to base Chief Director of the Pandora Project."

The woman had the most classic example of a 'WTF' expression Harry had seen since Hermoine explained the concept of Outer Space to Ron.

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><p><strong>Except from Dr Patel's conversation with Dr Granger:<strong>

_The young woman looked Max straight in the eye and said, "Harry Potter is a Boy Scout." She stated firmly. "Until he get righteously pissed off like this, and then he becomes the human incarnation of the Achangel Micheal sans flaming sword, plus a really nasty mean streak." She shrugged. "But so long as it's not you he's pissed at, your safe."_

_Max swallowed heavily. "So what will happen to Quaritch and Selfridge."_

_Hermoine shrugged serenely. "They're already in cryostasis. But then, there is always the very unlikely chance that something will go wrong and some of the passengers will remain awake and aware the entire trip." There was a disinctly nasty tilt to the woman's lips. "Unable to move...speak... Just the quiet of space and constant stream of air and liquid food keeping you alive..."_

_It was about that time Max decided to never annoy either Dr Granger or Commander Potter._

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><p>If you want this plot bunny, go for it, just let me know so I can read it.<p> 


	4. Tarnished

_**Disclaimer:**__**I do not own Harry Potter or the song 'Her Name is Alice' by Shinedown.**_

This Harry came about as a 'what would happen if Snape accidentally destroyed a key pillar of Harry's mind when trying to teach said student Occlumancy, leaving Harry in roughly the same state of mind as the Longbottoms', but eventually evolved into a 'disassociated and mentally fractured Harry who adopts something-something' with open-ended references to manipulative!Dumbledore and a mildly Loony! and Stuff-it!Harry.

Honestly, the plot is so open-ended that you can make pretty much anything you want of it and draw your own conclusions.

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><p><em>If I had a world of my own<em>

_Everything would be nonsense._

_Nothing would be what it is_

_Because everything would be what it isn't._

The last thing It remembered was trying to resist a dark figure's angry mind probe. Then pain...

Broken stained glass shards floated above a backdrop of storm clouds, many midnight blue and deep violet while other shards were fire crimson, oily green and void black.

The Nimbus was only able to identify the blue and violet shards 'Me/Mine' and the rest as 'Not Me/Not Mine'.

A small blue shard floated through the Nimbus above the turbulent river of clouds, giving the Nimbus a desire to sort through the shards into groups of 'Mine' and 'Not Mine'.

Sometimes the desire would go away and the Nimbus would stop, drifting in apathy for a time, before another shard would float through It, giving renewed purpose.

_I invite you to a world where there is no such thing as time_

_And every creature lends themselves to change your state of mind_

_And the girl that chased the rabbit, drank the wine and took the pill_

_Has locked herself in limbo to see how it truly feels_

_To stand outside your virtue_

_No one cane ever hurt you_

_Or so they say_

When the Nimbus finally managed to sort the 'Mine' shards from the 'Not-Mine' shards, It noticed that there were almost as many of the fire crimson shards as there were deep violet ones.

At some point, a frame of some kind floated out of the clouds and hovered between the two groups, the bottom lined in bright blue pieces that hadn't torn from the edges.

When next a shard floated into the Nimbus, It began to search out the small number of bright blue pieces and fit them into the frame.

It took forever and an eternity before there were no blue and purple shards left, and there were big gaping holes in the window where the 'Not-Mine' shards went.

Tired and finally finished, the Nimbus began sorting the 'Not-Mine' shards and putting them into bags that appeared to keep them together and away from Its Window of Self.

The Nimbus coiled around the Window tiredly and Became.

_Her name is Alice (Alice)_

_She crawls into the window_

_Through shapes and shadows_

_Alice (Alice)_

_And even though she's dreaming, she knows_

**(space)**

When Harry Potter woke, the world was suddenly, inexplicably, clear.

It was like going through life with rose-tinted glasses, only to take them off and substitute them with blue-tinted glasses; a whole new perspective on the same thing.

He was in a hospital bed in a sparse grey stone room that was just a bit chilly, IV bags attached to his wrists above the loose straps that held him down.

With a little wiggling and a slight graze on his thumb, Harry got his left hand loose and began to gently unstrap himself enough to free his other hand and remove the painful needles.

A dim part of the wizard wondered why he could move so easily, since he knew he'd been in his mind for a very long time. His muscles and such should have atrophied, but hadn't.

His arms and legs were still muscled like they'd been before...just Before. He was very pale, though.

His hair was longer too. It would probably be to mid-back soaking wet, but the thick black mass retained its chaotic, gravity-defying nature even at length, rising in long smoky-black, absurdly fluffy licks around his shoulders.

He was naked under the blankets, so when he hesitantly stood from the bed, he took off the sheet, folded it in half and wrapped it around his waist, pulling the white blanket over his shoulders for warmth.

A pleased smile crossed the wizard's face when the door opened by itself into an empty corridor.

On a whim, he went left.

A time later, he found himself in front of a familiar picture of a wizard trying to teach trolls ballet.

Harry smiled.

_Sometimes the curiosity can kill the soul but leave the pain_

_And every ounce of innocence is left inside her brain_

_And through the looking glass we see she's painfully returned_

_But now off with her head I fear is everyone's concern_

_You see there's no real ending_

_It's only the beginning_

_Come out and play_

**(space)**

Harry spent a few hours in the Room of Hidden and Lost Things, as he whimsically called it, curled up on a squishy couch and reading the newspapers and such, catching up on what was going on in the outside world.

According to the Daily Prophet, Harry had disappeared from Hogwarts while travelling between his 'Remedial Potions' lessons and the Gryffindor Dormitory. A full investigation ensued, resulting in the discovery of Umbridge's blood quills, a surprising number of Dark Items, more than two dozen illegal potions and the firing of several teachers for misconduct (who knew Professor Sinistra was sleeping with so many seventh years? Of both genders?). Dumbledore barely held onto his position as headmaster and Snape had quit before the investigation even started.

Harry knew Snape had shattered his mind. He was pretty sure it had been an accident considering he owed James, and thus Harry, a life debt. Likely it was just dumb luck that the man hit a key fault line in Harry's mind.

That didn't mean the green-eyed monster -ahem- wizard, would forgive him. Ever.

Harry's mind had shattered like red-hot glass under cold water when he was fifteen. The newest newspaper in the Room said he was now nineteen.

He would not forgive certain parties for stealing four years of his life.

Side Note; Voldemort upped his plans and outed himself without being completely ready to wage war again. Fudge got a vote of no confidence and Amelia Bones became Minister.

The ministry emptied of all bearing the Dark Mark and Azkaban got noticeably full.

With a wicked little smirk, Harry cheerfully stored everything from books to potions, broken furniture to clothing, jewellery to weapons, into a little mokeskin bag he found.

And, on the upside, he was now had actual clothing to _wear_.

The late teen cheerfully skipped out of Hogwarts and into the bright, shiny, danger-infested world.

_Her name is Alice (Alice)_

_She crawls into the window_

_Through shapes and shadows_

_Alice (Alice)_

_And even though she's dreaming_

_She's unlocked the meaning for you_

_This kingdom good riddance_

_Her freedom and innocence_

_Has brought this whole thing down_

**(space)**

A few weeks later Harry, now introducing himself as Harley Quinn (and, yes, he was aware that the Marvel Harley Quinn (or Harleen Quinzel) was a chick), wandered along the London Harbour, cheerfully balancing on the edge of the wharf, humming a random ditty.

It had been easy to scrounge up enough money from the mokeskin bag to get a ride to Diagon Alley on the Knight Bus. Easier still to wander up to a goblin at Gringotts and ask for a Vault Test. No one could touch his Vaults until he reappeared after he went missing because his account still listed him as alive.

He was informed that several parties had tried.

Many of the clothes he'd taken from the Room of Hidden and Lost Things were old, in some cases very, _very_ old, and so he'd anonymously donated the more muggle-like dresses and unwearable clothes to a small museum in London.

Now his favourite clothes consisted of a pair of ancient worn brown leather knickerbockers with flannel inlay, a pair of big black boots that were probably from the 1980s, a slightly oversized, pale purple button up flannelette shirt and a big dark coat that looked and smelled remarkably like a smaller version of Hagrid's old coat.

Harry looked like a tramp and he had no problem with that.

He knew the holes left in his Window of Self left him a little...unhinged.

He thinks that he has never been so happy and free.

_Her name is Alice(Alice)_

_She crawls into the window_

_Through shapes and shadows_

_Alice (Alice)_

_And even though she's dreaming_

_She's unlocked the meaning_

**(space)**

The green-eyed young man is attractive with his shaggy dark hair and whimsical smile to the people he passes in the street.

The green-eyed monster is terrifying with his swaying movements and teeth-baring grin to the Death Eaters who find him one cold afternoon.

_Red knights, White knights_

_Marching to the fight._

_Drink me, sing me_

_Fill me to sink me_

After six months wandering Britain from top to bottom, Harry always finds himself in London along the harbour.

He had seen Them drinking the blood of a homeless man one morning in the dawn light, seen the regret on Their identical faces as They cut his throat and rolled his body into the water, so when Harry finds himself with five unconscious Death Eaters, he drags them into a warehouse, hangs them up by their ankles and slits their throats, letting the blood fall into a funnel and into the large ten gallon bottles from the Room.

He left the bottles outside the door to the lair They made in the basement of a nearby warehouse. He also left a book simply titled _'Dhampir'_.

The bottles are gone the next morning, the smell of blood having drawn their attention.

_Red knights, White knights_

_Marching to the fight._

_Drink me, sing me_

_Fill me to sink me_

_She's unlocked the meaning for you_

**(space)**

For three years, Harry on and off dropped by to leave bottles of Death Eater blood for Them.

He was balancing along the edge of a wharf when They eventually found him, having caught his scent from across the river and winged it as bats.

When he saw Them standing at the riverbank, his first thought was that They were younger than he had though They were.

'They' were twin boys with pale, beautiful faces and inky black hair and eyes, smaller and daintier than himself, like pretty painted dolls, and appeared to be only around fifteen or so. The bloodlust had likely started with the onset of puberty and had probably driven one or both of them to kill their caretaker as mortal mothers seldom survived childbirth.

Dhampirs were the offspring of a vampire father and a mortal mother and were usually hunted to the ground by full-blooded vampires and wizards both. If the Ministry of Magic ever became aware of them, they would be executed out of hand like a rabid dog.

See, dhampirs had all of the strengths and only the mildest of weaknesses of vampires. They could shapeshift, use magic, had supernatural speed, strength and senses and were strongly sensitive to the unseen dimensional layers that overlapped this one. However, they became uncomfortable after long periods of time in the sun and had to rest below ground, had mild allergies to silver, garlic and some other herbs and holy items agitated them, though were unlikely to harm or drive them away like true vampires.

They were, unfortunately, also very noticeable, making it easier for certain parties to kill them before they became powerful enough to be a threat. The last known adult dhampir spent five hundred years running around the globe, killing vampires, dark creatures and the odd wizard or witch who pissed him off, before dropping off the face of the planet around the 1890s.

Harry wandered towards the pair, still smiling his vacant, whimsical smile.

_In contrariwise_

_What it I_

_It wouldn't be_

_And what it wouldn't be_

_It would._

_You see?_

* * *

><p>Not really sure how this one came about and it was mildly morbid.<p>

Tell me what you think.


	5. The Cunning Assassin

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

I admit this story is the result of watching too much Hellsing, Hound of the Baskervilles and, oddly enough, Pokemon.

Interesting Idea, though.

* * *

><p>Approaching Harry's eleventh birthday, the letter made of parchment was ignored with the rest if favour of the two boxes on the front doorstep addressed to him.<p>

The first was a fairly large box with a few holes in it and a hand-hold while the second was just a large cardboard box smothered in masking tape, 'TO HARRY' written in bold letters across the sides of each.

There was a letter addressed to Aunt Petunia on the top.

Thinking quickly, Harry grabbed the letter to Aunt Petunia and scurried back inside to give the letters to Uncle Vernon before coming back outside to look over the boxes.

Opening the holed box, Harry blinked when he found a half-grown, inky black puppy staring back at him with dark, dark red-brown eyes, a pair of white bone nubs on top of its skull like horns.

"So that's it then."

Harry jumped out of his skin and turned to find Aunt Petunia standing behind him, arms folded and lips drawn tight, the letter clutched in her hand. Her eyes were studying the quiet puppy as if trying to find something.

She glanced at Harry."Don't just stand there, boy. Bring it and the other box into the kitchen."

Then the woman turned and walked away.

The boy and puppy stared at one another for a moment before the puppy jumped out of the box and sat next to his leg obediently.

Harry sighed and began dragging the heavy unopened box down the hall to the kitchen.

(**space)**

Harry suspected something was in the letter when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said he could keep the puppy, apparently a Purebred male German Shepherd named Sicarius, as all the paperwork was in order, so long as he took proper care of it. But when he was moved up into the spare bedroom and permitted to keep the additional clothing and big, leather-bound book that came with the pet supplies in the other box, he knew something was going on.

Admittedly, he was feeling rather blind-sided and edgy when Aunt Petunia told him they would be going shopping for new furniture, clothing and other such things for him the next day.

He fell into a restless sleep late that night, arms wrapped around Sica as if afraid he would be taken away.

Harry didn't notice Sica's vibrant bloody gaze locked onto the pink scar on his forehead, worried as he was, nor did he really notice when Sica's horns were a centimetre longer in the morning, his scar now faded white with age.

**(space)**

Harry didn't attend Hogwarts that year, unaware that children who had potentially dangerous familiars were taught by correspondence by law.

He didn't attend Stonewall either.

Harry's days were busy. He attended martial arts classes three afternoons a working week, fencing in the mornings of Tuesdays and Thursdays, was taught English, Civil Studies and Welsh by his tutor, Mr Micah Ganges, for an hour each subject a day and Science and Maths with Mrs Faith Augustine on the afternoons he didn't have martial arts. Every other weekend, he was visited by Mr Gentry, who wore spotless dove-grey suits and a long pale ponytail and taught him how to manage the accounts left to him by his father's father. Every Sunday he was visited by Ms Faye for 'Special Lessons'.

**(space)**

Charlus Potter had died a week before Harry's eleventh birthday under suspicious circumstances, having failed to gain custody or even visitation rights since James and Lily died. He had learnt much from being married to a Black and planned accordingly.

Having gotten a little out of James and Lily before their deaths, and then what he'd learnt after prying Dumbledore's chops open, Charlus knew the threat to Harry had to do with Dark Soul Magiks, and scoured the world for anything that could protect his grandson.

During his search, he had somehow stumbled upon the abode of his ancestress, Morgan Le Fey, who, old enough to feel regret for what she had done to Mordred and Arthur, had acquired the pup through payment of dubious origins from a Huntsman of the Sleugh.

Morgan suspected that Charlus had 'fallen down the stairs' mere days before Harry's eleventh birthday because the Potter Lord would have been able to claim Heir Rights to his grandson and, upon seeing the boy was at least neglected, presented a Dumbledore-Proof case to the Wizengamot for Harry's custody.

She had also managed to get around the wards placed around the Dursley property by placing bigger, stronger dome-wards over the property wards and tied them to Harry's Faerie Hound.

Sicarius looked like a German Shepherd because, somewhere along the line at the beginning of the breed, Faerie Hounds had bred sometimes with sheep dogs, resulting in the recessive completely black and completely white genes. Little known fact was that most German Shepherds were magic resistant because of these ancestors and were naturally aggressive when an entity with magic presented it/themselves as a threat to their master, though the black and white strains had the ability to change in size and tangibility when enraged.

This was taught in Care of Magical Creatures and told to wizard-raised children to prevent attacks by the breed.

And since Sica went everywhere, literally, with Harry, the witches and wizards who tried to get close enough to take him to Hogwarts or for whatever reason never managed to come within sight of the boy without seeing the horned dog glowering at them with hellfire eyes.

**(space)**

When the young wizard turned twelve, a diary was sent to Harry that wrote back the first day, but the next morning there was nothing, though the boy noted that the corner had been chewed on. The mostly grown Sicarius got scolded, but the dog with the now two-inch horns remained insufferably smug for more than a week.

During the summer of Harry's thirteenth year, Ms Faye took Harry and Sica to a small, cluttered antique shop on the edge of London and the two left with an old spiralling iron baton worn with age and liberally smattered with nearly worn away Celtic patterns. The two ft baton spiralled into pints at the ends like a double-ended unicorn horn.

Ms Faye began teaching Harry actual magic that afternoon while Sica was conspicuously absent.

And a certain shaggy black dog, newly escaped from an infamous wizarding prison, was discreetly playing a not-so-fun game of hide-and-seek with a very big and scary Hound of the Hunt through the neighbourhood.

* * *

><p>Poor Sirius.<p>

I chose the name Sicarius because I heard somehwere that it means 'Cunning Assassin' and thought, 'Hey, that's a cool name and a cool title all rolled into one'.


	6. Questioning the Bones

_**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Bones or Harry Potter.**_

* * *

><p>"<em>The answer is useless if you do not know the<em>_** Question. **__It is the **Q**__**uestion**__ that drives us..."_

Harry did not remember who it was that told him this, but he could remember sitting in their lap and their arms wrapped around him as he faced forward. The voice was a symphony of voices, like a dozen voices of different ages and genders and ethnicities speaking the same words at the same time, with an echo of different languages. Harry remembers the smells clinging to the rust-red fabric the Person was clothed in; a mix of vanilla and spices, with a strong over-scent of cinnamon-scented candles.

When the little boy thinks of this Person and the remembered scent, his mind draws up images of red deserts and pounding, dry heat from the sun on sand.

Harry ponders over what the Person said to him and eventually, he begins to ask questions in class, then at the library, then he goes and listens to and questions the old men who play chess in the park or feed the ducks in the pond.

He learns about reading and writing and math from the teachers, who are pleased that the troublesome boy is becoming more interested in learning and hope he will settle down, and when 'he' doesn't, one of the teachers discreetly follow him into the school grounds at recess and find his cousin and three other boys violently assaulting the 'troublesome' boy.

Dudley Dursley and his 'gang' are sent to the school counsellor while their parents are called.

The police and Child Services are called when both the Dursleys alternately rant and threaten the staff, saying that it was surely a mistake and the 'freakish' boy was surely the one to blame...

Harry Potter is further investigated when the Dursleys are unable to produce the necessary guardianship papers which reveals that Harry Potter did not exist until he was five years old and being sent to school, but that the neighbours reported that the child had been around since toddler-hood.

Lily Evans, supposedly the boy's mother, was reported to have died of terminal illness at age eleven.

Dudley Dursley is determined to be a budding psychopath and is sent to a correctional facility, and later a psychiatric ward before a scan shows that part of his frontal lobe never finished forming, leaving him with non-existent impulse-control. He is transferred to a permanent disabilities carer who usually works with down-syndrome patients.

The Dursleys are put on trial and sentenced to life imprisonment for a variety of crimes, including kidnapping, child-labour, child-slavery and varieties of abuse and neglect. A careless comment from Dudley adds the additional charge of Intent to Prostitute a Minor.

Harry is given to a foster-carer while he undergoes a psychiatric evaluation. An IQ test shows he has an IQ of 187.

When no DNA hits or reports of a missing child fitting his description are found in the United Kingdom, inquiries are made to the rest of Europe until a partial match is found in America.

An aunt is found, name Christine Brennan. She is married to Matthew Brennan and has two children a few years older than Harry. Cousin Temperance is four years older than Harry, and Cousin Russ is eight years older.

Aunt Christine is a bit unsure about Harry, but takes him in. Uncle Matthew welcomes Harry by teaching him about what happens when a mentos is introduced to a bottle of cola. Tempy teaches Harry how to use her chemistry set and the two become close.

Harry finally bonds with Russ when his cousin yells at the bullies who pick on Harry at school.

Harry's most treasured possession is a 'Moroccan' scented candle that smells like cinnamon and spices and vanilla that Tempy gave him on his tenth birthday.

Aunt Christine and Uncle Matthew disappear two weeks before Christmas that year and Harry and Tempy are put into the foster care system, Russ unable to care for them himself.

Because Harry is 'of interest' to law enforcement, because of his kidnapping and status as a partial British citizen, when Harry calls his social worker because their caretaker has locked Tempy in a car boot for two days without food, water or bathroom breaks for breaking a plate, police arrive in ten minutes and end up arresting the caretaker for abuse and neglect.

Tempy goes with Harry to his counselling sessions for a few months. They live with an old man named Sebastian Potter, who came over from England twenty years previously.

When Harry Brennan turns eleven and several letters arrive addressed to Harry Potter, Sebastian is not surprised by the letters, but by who they are addressed to.

Sebastian explains that he is a wizard and, from the looks of things, Harry's great uncle. While Tempy examines the stick (wand), several sparks shoot out. Sebastian is again surprised.

Harry and Temperance decide to continue as they are and attend classes on the weekend and holidays.

They later find out that Tempy was something of an anomaly that sent the Wizarding World into a fit because of the extremely late emergence of her magic. It is theorised that her proximity to a powerful wizard has sparked her potential and sets off studies into Muggleborn Development of Magic.

At age sixteen, Harry follows Temperance into university to be a forensic anthropologist and later joins her at dig sites.

Harry was working on a site in China, age 29 and having never again set foot in England, when Temperance called and said that they had found and identified the body of Ruth Keenan nee Evans, also known as Christine Brennan.

When Max Keenan revealed himself to Temperance and Harry, Harry nailed him in the gut and walked away.

Russ, Harry understood, was only nineteen and could not care for them. But Uncle Matthew and Aunt Christine had made Harry hope and destroyed Tempy.

Neither of the two younger Brennan took abandonment well.

* * *

><p>Eh. It was buzzing in my head for a while so I wrote it down.<p> 


	7. Silver Scales

_**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Temeraire or Harry Potter, but I do own the dragon and her breed.**_

* * *

><p>The egg had been under the dock since mid spring, kept oddly warm by the rotting material around it. It was about the size of a ten-year old, almost cylindrical and a rough, lumpy black-grey.<p>

It was been washed there from the far north, and so wasn't that effected by the cold water that came with the high tide.

And so, the little dragonette grew in its shell to the shrill shrieks, bawdy shouts and nagging whines of fishmongers, sailors and prostitutes. By the time the little thing began to hatch, it knew more about human baby-making than most humans, given the brothel just down the road.

The top of the egg broke some time around two in the morning, a long bloody silver leg kicked for a few moments, a piece of afterbirth hooked on the large hooked claw on the out-most toe, followed by a long tail with an odd fin appendage on the end, and the other leg.

The little dragonette (about the size of a golden retriever) used its front legs and some creative twisting to back out of the shell.

She was a pale silver, like good-quality soft silver shined to perfection, with a long serpentine neck longer than the usual and a small foal-ish head that blinked tennis-ball-sized, slightly protruding, soft grey eyes at the world. There was an odd flap of wrinkled skin hanging down her neck from a widow's peak on the crown of her head like hair.

Hooked claws similar to, but slightly smaller than, the ones on the hind legs were on the inner- most toes of her front claws.

A ridge of webbed spines momentarily flared up along the back of her greyhound body as she shook of the afterbirth.

The little dragonette took a moment to flare her six-spined wings, momentarily revealing the gemlike rainbow flecks on her underwings, before slipping into the water and swimming deeper into the River Thames in search of fish.

**(space)**

By the third night, the dragonette was eating sharks and sleeping during the day under the various piers and listening to the humans above, having quickly tripled in size since her hatching.

On her fourth night, she was spotted surfacing to swallow and breath by a group of sailors. By her seventh, it was common knowledge that there was a dragon in the River Thames and she noted several small things flying over the river.

They looked a bit like her.

But then, they also looked a bit like the dead horse she found floating in the river and ate the day before last.

The large boat-sized dragoness, having eavesdropped for a bit on sailors and such figured she should probably look for a human to 'captain' her, figuring that a 'captain' would get the other dragons and their 'captains' to leave her alone.

Reports of the Silver Dragon of the Thames popping out and looking at lone humans marked an increase in activity in the dragon scouts as their riders and the humans in charge became worried she would begin eating them.

Having nibbled on a corpse tossed in the river, the dragoness had decided to _never try humans again._ They were gross.

Then she met Harry.

**(space)**

Harry was floating in the water, face-up and just staring at the night sky, small streams of blood misting into the water.

The dragoness had arrived in time to feast upon the large shark moving in increasingly small circles around the floating youth.

Harry was aware of the turbulent movements beneath him, but couldn't bring himself to care. Not even when a horse-like head larger than his body rose from the water and swallowed the tail-end of a large shark.

The dragoness circled the human she was able to tentatively identify as almost adult male a few times before picking him up in her mouth like she would a hatchling, her long body turning upriver towards Oxford, her head just above the surface and an eye on the sky for scouts.

**(space)**

When Harry woke up again, it was a surprisingly sunny day, and he was curled up in what he thought might have been a nest of sand and fresh grass.

There was also a large shining silver dragon balancing on its hind legs, wings spread, head back and eyes closed as it sunbathed like a shag on a rock just up the shore.

Small, colourful patches of scales dotted the webbing of its wings, refracting small rainbows of light in addition to the practically glowing silver of its hide. The claws on its surprisingly elegant legs and the small horn between the nostrils were luster-glazed black.

All in all, the basic body-shape was similar to a hunting hound, like a greyhound or saluki, with a head that was raised to hover over its shoulders like a duck or swan. Its head was basically horse-shaped, though with a much longer mouth, like a dog, with slightly protuberant eyes, a comparatively small horn on its nose and an odd frill like appendage that superficially looked like hair held slightly open and away from its neck to dry. Harry also found something odd about the wing formation, but didn't know enough about dragons to know what.

Overall, while obviously a dragon, this silver one looked nothing at all like Norberta or the Hungarian Horntail he'd faced in the tournament. It was like comparing a greyhound to a Saint Bernard.

Then the dragon lazily opened one of its soft grey eyes, the _exact same shade as Luna Lovegood's,_ and let out a crooning chatter at him.

"Hello." He answered as the dragon opened the other eye, fell back onto its forelegs and trotted over to where Harry was sitting in the sand-nest, its gait an odd swaying bounce that lifted each foot off the ground with little disturbance to the sand aside from the clear imprints, tail held clear of the ground and wagging with each step.

Then the dragon lowered its head to Harry's level and said, in a soft clear contralto, "'Lo."

The two regarded one another from a bit, until the dragon tilted her head right around so her head was upside down.

"Ya 'ave very pretty eyes 'n' nicely coloured 'air. Yer 'ide is very evenly shaded, too." She sniffed a little. "'N' ya smell very clean." Her head went back to right-way-up, then turned sideways and came close so she could look at him closely with one eye. "What's yer name, pretty?"

Up close, Harry could see that she had at least three eyelids and thick black lines around her eyes like Kohl. Her pupils were also quite small, barely more than thin slits, and shards of colours were refracted from the grey in her eye like jewel facets.

"I'm Harry." He said a little belatedly. "What's your name?"

"Dun 'ave one." She said dismissively. "Will ya be mah captain?" She asked abruptly.

Harry stared a moment, stumped. "I don't know what that means."

The nameless dragon sat down in front of him, all four legs tucked under her like a cat and wings pulled close as if for comfort or warmth.

The dragoness made a shrug motion with her wings. "I'm not thah sure what it mean, either. But from what I've over'eard, ya give me a name, then I'm yer dragon and yer my 'uman and our partnership can't be broken short'a death. 'N' we'll always be a joint package, so if someone wants one'a us, they get both'a us. 'Sentually, we'd be two parts of a whole."

That was something Harry had never been offered before. It was not something he would turn away without a lot of thought.

It took him a split second to decide.

Harry smiled. "What do you think of Lunalesca? Luna means 'moon' and was the name of a dear friend of mine, while 'Lesca' comes from the name of a mythological priestess called Yunalesca, who was said to have hair like silver moonshine."

The dragon crooned and preened, her frill snapping up and out in pleasure, revealing a riot of vibrant gem-hued colour.

**(space)**

In the next week, Harry gutted, cleaned and cooked the fish Lesca brought back for him, and explored the small river island she had brought him to.

The two chatted about themselves; Harry was partial to treacle tart while Lesca was quite fond of shark; Lesca liked stones, Harry preferred sand; Harry liked flying, Lesca liked swimming.

Harry only swore using 'bloody' and 'damn'. Lesca could write a dictionary of Swear Words and incorporate them into everyday conversation without shame.

Lunalesca reminded Harry of a mix of Ginny and Luna and a little of some of the Ravenclaws who set after their pursuit of knowledge like a seeker after a snitch.

It took Harry a while before he figured out that he was in the Napoleonic War Era.

The big wooden warships with their French flags were a dead giveaway. Unfortunately for them, Lunalesca was territorial and more than capable of wrecking ships from underwater.

* * *

><p>Finished and I'll probably put up another continuation of <em>Tarnished <em>since some many people liked it.


	8. Contract

_Disclaimer: __I do not own Harry Potter, Castlevania: Symphony of Darkness, Fullmetal Alchemist or Hellsing._

_May be a sequel._

* * *

><p><strong>har·ry<strong>

Spelled [har-ee]

verb, -ried, -ry·ing.

–verb (used with object)

1. to harass, annoy, or prove a nuisance to by or as if by repeated attacks; worry: He was harried by constant doubts.

2. to ravage, as in war; devastate: The troops harried the countryside.

–verb (used without object)

3. to make harassing incursions.

_**Origin: **_  
>before 900; Middle English herien, Old English her(g)ian (derivative of here army); cognate with German verheeren, Old Norse herja to harry, lay waste<p>

—Related forms

un·har·ried, adjective

—Synonyms  
>1. molest, plague, trouble. 2. plunder, strip, rob, pillage.<p>

* * *

><p>The Possession of the Hollows manifested themselves as black marks upon his body whenever he drew power from his Core.<p>

Five lines like claw marks ran from the front of his hips to the backs of his thighs on both sides, and five more crossing the other way, from top of his arse to just below the groin, had manifested as the representations of Death's Cloak.

Swirling, curling, smoke-like, hair-line wisps twined up his hands and wrists to nearly his shoulders were the 'gifts' from the Deathstick.

Black lined his eyes and eyelids, spiking down for a few centimetres at the corners, and the small black skulls that swam in the outer rims of his green irises were the almost acceptable marks of the Resurrection Stone's approval.

The mark of the Deathly Hallows was stretched across his back and shoulders in bold black.

Aside from the hair on his head, his eye-lashes and his eyebrows, his body was completely hairless and pore-less as an alabaster statue.

Harry Potter, now known as merely 'The Harrier', spent most of his time in torpor.

He didn't care to count the time that passed, nor did he give heed that time and space was not moving linearly for him. He did nothing but sleep and dream until he was Summoned, do his job, then return to the Room in Not-Space he had created in time-out-of-mind, back when he first realised he was not changing.

Yawning, Harry sat up in his bed, looking blearily around the white-veined black marble room; bookcases, weapon wracks, cupboards, drawers and chests pushed up against the walls of the dodecahedral**(1)** room.

He yawned again as he crawled out of the circular bed in the centre of the floor, the flannel sheets still warm and soft on his bare skin. Spells made the marble warm to the touch without being stifling.

Wandering over, Harry grabbed the first pair of pants he could lay his fingers on (black and dark red ribbed leather hipsters) and pulled them from the drawer, followed by a shirt (a threadbare army-green T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off) and pulled on the big black boots next to the drawers.

That done, Harry moseyed to the door that had awoken him and peaked out. Then he collected Harness Seven from one of the wracks, stocked with several red healing potions and a variety of universal antidotes, picking up Gryffindor's sword on the way out.

The ever-useful voices of the restless dead and unsent souls murmur and whisper around him, their mumbling, giggling forms streaming around him in wisps of smoke.

He is in the Marble Gallery, they giggle/murmur/whisper/hiss at him, in the Castle of Dracula, Castlevania.

Harry hummed the Mexican Hat Dance under his breath as he strolled down the hallways, absently smiting skeletons and a few possessed tables along the way.

When the Master of Death came upon his Summoner a few minutes later, he was a bit bemused by the pale face surrounded by a puddle of black cloth and frothing cream-sheened white hair.

He had seen that inhumanely attractive face before, only younger.

He had made a Contract with the grieving child; if he could manage to Summon the Master of Death again with his memories of their prior meeting Sealed, then Harry would perform a Soul Exchange.

In return for the eternal servitude of one Adrian Farenheights Tepes, Harry would call the soul of Lisa Tepes from the afterlife and place her in a semi-immortal homunculus body.

Harry chuffed in amusement before couching to gather the man up into his wiry arms, turning to go back to his Room.

Upon reaching his abode and settling the man onto his bed, Harry poured a few healing potions and a panacea down his throat. Then the Master of Death wandered over to his work-table to fulfil his side of the contract.

**(space)**

Lisa was very pretty with red-blond curly hair, a kind, elegant face and soft pale green eyes. The body was vaguely hourglass-shaped with elegant limbs and long beautiful fingers.

Adrian had taken after her quite strongly, though his hair probably having been vastly paled by his father's.

Despite the deceptive softness of the form and skin, Lisa's new body was just as hard and fast and indestructible as a vampire's. In some ways, more-so.

When Harry started the body breathing, the heart beating, he reached through the body like water and placed a shard of a Philosopher's Stone in the homunculus' right hip bone, the heart, chest and head being too obvious places for her life-source. It would need replacing in five hundred years.

As Harry stood back to examine his work with a critical eye, there was a strangled whimper from the bed.

Adrian was staring, wide-eyed and teary, at the pale, empty-gazed face in the puddle of red-gold curls.

Harry turned back to regard the body for a bit more. "I tried to get it as close to the original as possible without attaching blemishes. Will she like it, do you think?"

"Wha- What? Why are you-?"

Harry 'hmmm'ed. "Just after she died, you came to me and I offered you a Contract: If you can find me again with all your memories of me Sealed away, then, in return for your eternal servitude, I will bring back the Immortal Soul of Lisa, Mother of Adrian and Wife of Dracula, and place it into a semi-immortal body."

Harry smiled cheerfully, running his hands over the limbs a final time to ensure they moved properly like a toymaker with a newly-made puppet, well aware that Adrian had left the bed and was slowly approaching.

"As you managed to Summon me again, unconscious though you were, the conditions of the Contract have been put in motion." Harry continued, ignoring the semi-immortal dhampir close behind him, "All that is left is your agreement to the Soul Exchange and I will retrieve the soul of Lisa Tepes from whatever Circle of Hell she was damned to."

"Damned?" Was the strangled exclamation from the man.

A hand spun the shorter Master of Death around before both hands were clutching his shoulders, Adrian's face whiter than usual and there was something like horror on his angular face. "What do you mean 'damned'? My mother was a kind and gentle woman! She surely wouldn't be sentenced to Hell!"

The Harrier fell back into his older, immortal persona, old pity staring out at the much younger entity. "She was a Christian, Adrian." The Harrier spoke gently, kindly. "In the eyes of the Christian Church, vampires are_ Anathema_. Not only did she fall in love with, marry and bed a vampire who has slain many, she gave birth to a hybrid. Like with the Nephilim**(2)**, Gods do not tolerate something that has the potential to be greater than their own creations that are out of their control, and they will seek to destroy you regardless as to whether you are Good or Evil."

Harry gently removed his hands from where they were on either side of Adrian's face, wiping away the red-tinged tears that clung to the long eyelashes. "There is also the matter that Lisa was burnt as a witch. By God's decree, all that is written in the Bible is God's Law. 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' Those executed as witches and such, even should they be innocent, are not permitted to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. The only exceptions are those who are of different religions and are as such judged by their own religious guidelines."

There was no hesitation. "Save her, please."

Harry blinked, surprised. "Do you even want to know what I meant by 'eternal servitude'?"

Adrian shook his head violently. "I don't care! Just save her, please!"

The Master of Death looked into Adrian's soul for a moment, the small skulls swirling in his green eyes. He turned away abruptly. "Alright."

With a flick of his wrist, a scroll appeared in a wisp of black smoke. A bloodquill appeared in the other hand. "Sign your soul away at the dotted line. Your Duties are listed in the contract so a copy will be made for your own reference."

At the scent of powerful blood hitting the air, the Harrier mused that desperation did, indeed, attract vultures. Adrian was just lucky that Harry was a kind and fairly reasonable vulture.

Feeling the Contract come into effect, Harry vanished in a puff of black wisps, diving into Hell to find a woman's soul.

**(space)**

As the Master of Death, the Harrier was technically allowed to bugger off with any soul he wanted so long as a contract was involved.

Still, despite being in Hell for a very long time, Lisa Tepes was a Pure Soul. Not to be mistaken for an Innocent or Good or Holy Soul, a Pure Soul was merely unable to be tarnished regardless of what the Soul had done, incorruptible, and inherently powerful. Those with Pure Souls inevitably had powerful personalities.

As such, they were very rare and very, very valuable.

By the time the Harrier managed to claw his way out of Hell with the soul, Hell was down a few dozen demons, seven archdemons and a devil. They would also be hunting down those Damned Souls he'd let loose as a distraction for a while.

He was still smoking when he puffed back into his Room hours later.

Adrian had moved his mother's homunculus body onto the bed and dressed it in his own silk shirt and cloak

Adrian's black coat and armour were hanging on the back of one of the chairs and the man himself was curled up in one of the nest-shaped chairs he'd dragged over beside the bed, clad in his undershirt and breeches, boots off and on the ground, as he read through the Contract.

When Harry appeared with the glowing golden soul of Lisa Tepes, Adrian looked up, hair frothing around his face as if he'd run his hand though it a few times.

Glancing at the scroll, Harry moved towards the bed with the soul that was lying quietly in his arms.

"You've read through it thoroughly?"

Adrian dropped his pale old ivory eyes submissively. "Yes, My Lord. You have been kind with my Duties."

Harry shrugged. "I don't actually need a vassal, but it does get lonely when I go about my own Duties, so a companion is welcome. It also has the added benefit of keeping you safe from other servants such as angels and demons and such. To harm my vassal is to insult me." The Harrier flashed a nasty smile that was wholly inhuman. "And nobody wants to insult a universal constant like the Master of Death."

Adrian blinked his big feminine eyes uncertainly, appearing not at all the dangerous warrior Harry knew him to be.

Fiddling and connecting strands and lines between the body and soul that only Death Deities could see, the immortal gently lowered the soul into the shell the woman would inhabit.

The body gasped and arched softly before settling into what was obviously a deep sleep, breath coming deeper than previously and eyes moving rapidly behind eyelids in dreams.

Harry yawned and stretched. "I've repressed her memories of her time in Hell, but she will subconsciously still be aware of them and, as such, she will probably not be exactly as you remember her. Harder, I'd imagine." Harry glanced at his new vassal. "You read Section Four, didn't you?"

Adrian's eyes saddened. "Yes, My Lord."

Harry nodded and let it drop. "She'll sleep for a while yet, getting used to the body. That Section will only become active once she leaves the Room, so if you have any unfinished business, you have time still to get it done. There are clothes and such that should fit you in the wardrobe with the lions on it. Feel free to use any weapons and such in the Room. If you want to know anything, don't hesitate to ask. The Green Door will take you to the Marble Gallery. The Door will come to you when you call if you are outside."

Adrian nodded.

Harry went to have a long bath in the adjoining bathroom. Adrian was gone when he came out some time later. He had taken Harry's advice and stocked up on weapons, armour and such before leaving.

**(space)**

When Adrian called to Door two days later, the only reason Lisa as still sleeping was because Harry had her under a sleep spell.

When Harry stepped through the door, he found himself in a Throne Room, the body of an old and Evil sorcerer lay cooling off to the side.

A tall, white-haired vampire with a small beard, clad in black and crimson, was standing at the foot of the dais and Adrian had collapsed to his knees in a puddle of black and cream two large steps from the vampire.

Crimson dripped from the vampire's claws, an almost helpless sadness and a sense of betrayal under the imperious anger and callousness of the vampire's façade.

Adrian had chosen black leathers to continue his unfinished business in, Harry noted, the fitted black coat of dragonhide flaring from the waist to the knees. The curls of cream satin were pulled up into a high ponytail, making the dhampir appear years younger and more vulnerable.

One of Harry's swords, a longsword/katana hybrid, was imbedded in the stone yards away from Adrian and Adrian's own shortsword was shattered a few feet to Dracula's left. A mangled Demon Familiar moved weakly against Adrian's curled leg.

Harry's vassal was quietly gasping behind the curtain of his hair, head bowed in exhaustion and pain, gauntleted arm clutched to his chest, probably broken. Blood trickled slowly from a wound below the left side of his ribcage.

The room was silent except for Adrian's breathing.

The vampire king did not want to kill his only child. He knew he wasn't the best father, but he had shown the boy as much love as he was capable of after Lisa's death broke what remained of his heart, hurting almost more than Elisabeth's death had. He could no longer be Matthias Corvis**(3)** or Vlad Tepes. Only Dracula remained and he could not tolerate this kind of betrayal, not even from his own child.

Dracula closed his eyes for a moment, pained, and Adrian's breathing stopped, causing the red orbs to snap open.

Where his son had knelt, defeated and waiting to die by his father's hand, was a puddle of blood, an open Contract signed in Adrian's blood and…

Had Dracula's heart still beaten, it would have twisted painfully in his chest when his laid eyes upon the breathing, _living_ form of his beloved Lisa, lying asleep on the floor clad in what his nose said was Adrian's shirt and wrapped in the enchanted cloak Dracula had given his son for his seventeenth birthday.

Looking around quickly, hoping to find a clue as to what was happening, the vampire king caught sight of a green door fading into nothing. Much later, he found the symbol on the door in a decrepit book of deities.

The book told of three items, the Deathly Hollows, which would give the wielder of all three the title 'Master of Death'.

Though they came close a few times, neither Dracula nor Lisa were able to find even one of the Hollows.

They had near given up on finding out what had happened to their son by the time Abraham Hellsing bound Dracula and Lisa to his bloodline, which gave birth to the Hellsing Organisation.

When Adrian finally appeared, Millennium was bringing London down around the ears of the Hellsing Organisation.

* * *

><p>(1) Dodecahedral – twelve-sided<p>

(2) Nephilim – half-human/ half-angel. The angels wiped them out on order from God because they were too destructive and looked to be about to wipe out humans. I think.

(3) Matthias Corvis - According to the Castlevania Wikia, this is the original name of Dracula in that universe. He sought vengance against God for taking away his wife, Elisabeth, while he was away fighting in the Holy Crusades.


	9. Memories of Hel

_**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Harry Potter or any Norse Mythology. I am not old enough for the later.**_

This is basically what would happen if Lockhart managed to caste the memory charm in Chamber of Secret on Harry instead of himself. The rockfall killed Ron and badly injured Lockhart. Ginny, of course, died while Tom came out of the Diary.

* * *

><p>"<em>So I'll remember…even if I forget."<em>

Harry could only ever remember the white room he lived in. It was filled with puzzles and white flowers (_lilies, part of him whispers) _and a pale blue stuffed rabbit that sits on the bed with him.

Sometimes he doesn't even remember his name or how to speak or move properly.

Something is wrong with his mind, the lady in white who comes into the room often tells him. A miscast spell has hurt his ability to remember.

Sometimes he vaguely remembers the old man who came to visit him at the beginning, when his mind and soul were still hiding. He would pry Harry's eyes open to _dig_ and _claw_ and _tear_ at Harry's mind.

It only made him hide deeper.

Another man used to come, and still does.

He is tall and dark (_and so sad_). Usually he just stands at Harry's door and looks in, but sometimes he will enter and sit by Harry's bed when he thinks Harry is asleep. Harry thinks it was this man who left Harry his rabbit.

A ragged man came once; clad in drab greys (_bringing a sense of cold loneliness_). Harry gave this man an odd stick from beside his bed that gave him a sense of warmth, telling the man "_Be free…" _without knowing why, just that it was the right thing to do. The man had cried, but left eventually.

Harry remembers the girl with the hair like a blackberry bush, tangled and big. She visited once in the beginning (_the little girl with tears like shattered dreams and broken friendships) _and once later (_the gaunt young woman with dry eyes and tatter heart)_.

He sometimes feels that there should have been a person with red hair, but usually dismisses it. (_His mind shies away from that memory.)_

There was a time long ago when there was yelling and screaming and bright colours as people in black robes and white masks moved beyond the room.

Tom came after that.

Tom the Riddle would come in and watch him sometimes, a smile on his handsome young-old face, red-brown eyes gleaming with indulgent, smug mirth.

His cold hands would sometimes cradle Harry's jaw, tilting it up so he could look into Harry's child-like green eyes, slipping into Harry's shattered thoughts like a serpent through a bramble bush to meet the smaller serpent that lives at the centre with the mangled child that is Harry.

Tom's touch in Harry's mind is like slick, smooth water, soothing the jagged edges the old man and the spell damage left behind, compelling the boy to lean into the hand cradling his face. In a rare lucid moment that occurs when Tom brushes against a snare, Harry wonders if he could have loved Tom if he weren't so broken and un-whole.

As this thought filters through, Harry can see the smile slide from Toms face to something like regret.

But the thought is lost in the haze of a broken mind, drifting into the snowstorm that rages outside the bramble of his mind.

At some point, a vague memory of a picture floats past; a picture of a girl and a wolf and a giant snake that were the children of Loki.

Harry wonders if he is the half-corpse Hela, for surely he is neither Fenrisúlfr nor Jörmungandr.

Tom finds the thought amusing and begins calling Harry his 'Hel'.

It is while Tom is gone that the old man returns and hits Harry with a red light.

When he wakes again, the world is loud and garbled and confusing, with strange people touching him.

It is like the trauma of being born again and, like a newborn, Harry screams and wails and flails until the red light returns.

So little 'Hel' ran back into the bramble of his mind and into the safety of Jörmungandr's coils as ice freezes over the outside, burying the bramble in snow.

Harry doesn't know it, but a new, false personality is imprinted over the snow above the bramble while he is trapped with the Serpent, waiting for the Wolf.

And Hel puts himself back together, greenery and berries and flowers of thoughts sprout and bloom and hang heavy from the buried boughs.

The cold place becomes warm and the serpent observes and eventually alters things as Hel works.

He manages to put himself together enough that he can think and feel and sometimes remember, but Jörmungandr keeps some of Hel's memories deep within his coils where Hel could not reach, even if he wanted to.

He remembers Harry Potter now, but it is distant and unwanted. Harry Potter was an unhappy person buried under unwanted obligations he would never have chosen for himself.

Hel is reasonably content and, while not happy, is better off than Harry Potter, so Harry Potter is separated and put to sleep within Jörmungandr's coils.

Hel gathers all the magic within them and puts it to sleep before settling down to wait for the God-Slaying Wolf with the Midgard Serpent.

In the outside world, Harry Potter, with the personality of Ronald Weasley imprinted over the top, suddenly finds himself unable to call forth the Magic that lays still and silent in his veins, ignoring the call of One-Who-Is –Not-Its-Master, during what would have been the Final Battle.

Light streams into the brambles as snow is dragged away chunk by chunk, two sets of eyes watching and waiting to see if it was the Wolf come to free them.

Hel wakes with the taste of blood on his tongue and chains on his wrists. A familiar hand lifts his jaw.

Tom the Riddle stands above him, older now, with eyes like wine. Hel smiles up at him with a child's devotion.

Tom smiles back, pleased.

Hel wakes up again in his white room with his blue bunny.

Tom and the tall dark man he thinks might be Loki in disguise still visit him.

Only now, sometimes Tom lies with him, touches him, and smiles with a wolf's smile, well pleased with his 'Hela'.

* * *

><p>Voldemort regarded the young man cuddled up against him with the regard one has for a well-earned possession.<p>

When Harry Potter, now Hel, had been hit with a miscast Obliviate spell by the fool Lockhart, he never expected the boy to be so fascinating, even broken as he was.

Dumbledore had tried to hide the boy's damage, saying he had been sent away to be trained. When the boy had been found in seclusion in the Janus Thackery Ward at St Mungos, his first thought was to do away with the boy, then nearly eighteen and surrounded by a tumble of black hair that stayed around his hips, even when cut.

But when the boy had looked at him with his empty childlike eyes, Voldemort had changed his mind, instead slithering into the depths of the shattered mind to find the piece of his soul he hadn't been aware that he had split off.

As a Horcrux, Harry was valuable.

Docile and affectionate, Harry's mind was more instinct and emotion with few lucid thoughts and a mangled ability to recollect short- and long-term memory. Harry vaguely remembered the Tom Riddle of the Horcrux Diary in association with an ally and a mild puppy-crush.

The mind had been easily led and moulded, Harry very close to becoming Hel, so Voldemort knew something had been done to Harry Potter when Dumbledore stole the boy on the cusp of being a man.

Then Snape had reported what had happened, honestly worried for the boy.

It was perfect timing that the puppet in Harry's body had suddenly found himself unable to carry through with the suicide spell that would have killed them both, as by that point, Harry and himself were the only Horcruxes left.

The magic was still there, as Voldemort found when the boy was captured and kneeling before his throne in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Then Dumbledore was thrown at his feet beside the boy.

Voldemort, as a nod towards Harry Potter's twisted view of the world with Voldemort as Fenrisúlfr, Harry himself as Hel and Dumbledore as Odin One-Eye, removed one of the old man's eyes and carried out the function of Fenrisúlfr at Ragnarok; to slay the Allfather.

It took Voldemort three days to dig out the false mind to find the bramble of Harry's mind beneath. To his surprise, Harry had continued to evolve beneath the mantle of winter and had 'fixed' himself to the point where he was again functional.

As Hel woke, the magic lying still in his veins burst to life; previously shorn hair tumbling to the knees, slight shifts occurred in facial bones and muscles to give a more feminine look and dark dapples like bruises appeared over half the boy's face.

The eye on the discoloured side turned bright red.

He truly was the appearance of Hel.

The familiar childish smile of devotion spread over the fragile face.

The Chamber of Secrets became Hel for his Hela. His Horcrux safely stored in a white room within Slytherin's statue, accessible only to himself, Severus Snape and the golem who cared for the boy.

Voldemort was pleased.

* * *

><p>Harry doesn't have to make sense. He's crazy.<p> 


	10. Let Me In

**Disclaimer:****I do not own Harry Potter.**

Not sure where this idea came from, but it would make for an interesting story.

* * *

><p>When Harry Potter was seven, Dudley Dursley tried to drown him in the playpool out the back of the house.<p>

Water is a connective element and Harry was already a very unhappy boy, but also a very powerful wizard.

Those of the magical community had to be very careful of their children, and muggleborns were carefully monitored, because sometimes, in a moment of weakness or desperation, the magical child can accidentally call out and…

…_let something in._

Some theorise that this is what happened to the one called Voldemort.

It was also something Dumbledore, in all his finite wisdom, forgot to ward against. Not even the alarms went off.

Harry was…lucky in a way, that he was stronger than the Vengeance Demon that slipped in through the small crack in Harry's defences that the larger entities vying for possession of the boy could not.

It was a nameless creature, too young and weak to yet be strong enough for more than basic instinct, and so, upon possessing young Harry and merging with the child's mind, the demon assimilated Harry Potter's memories, in the confusion assuming that it was Harry Potter itself.

And so the symbiotic demon became a darker aspect of Harry, thinking and acting and influencing in sync with the powerful young wizard, who became angry and vengeful against much of the world that left him to the Dursleys and offered no help.

Things began to happen to those that wronged the boy or saw the abuse but did nothing. Small things, large things, things that there was no way for a small boy of eight could have influenced.

Mr Cane in Number 2 lost his job because of budget cuts.

Ms Goldstein in Number 7 forgot to put the hand break on in her car and it rolled over Mrs Cassidy of Number 6's little Maltese Terrier, Sukie.

Mr McDonard in Number 1 came home early to find Mrs McDonard in bed with the twenty-five-year-old fiancé of Miss Troy in Number 11.

Mrs Figg lost seven cats before she found the large Gaboon Viper under her house that had escaped from a house on the next block. Because the snake had been illegal, it was not reported missing and the owner was not found until after Mrs Figg was taken to the hospital and in intensive care from the venom, having tried to save one of her cats from the snake. Mr Tibbles died anyway.

Aunt Marge tripped over Ripper on the stairs and broke her upper spine, rendering her a quadriplegic. Ripper had to be put down and further investigations into the dogs reveal mistreatment of the breeding bitches and illegal disposal of puppies deformed from inbreeding.

Dudley Dursley developed some rather severe allergies to chocolate, peanuts, several common preservatives and some of the more commonly used artificial colourings. After Dudley went into anaphylactic shock and was rushed to the hospital for the seventh time in one month, Child Services removed both children from the house pending investigation.

In the resulting investigation spanning two years, the Dursleys were sentenced to prison for a variety of child related, forgery, larceny and embezzlement charges.

Most of the staff at the school where the children attended were investigated and found to have failed to notice or report abuse, suspected abuse and neglect. Most of the staff had had their licences revoked.

Seventeen reports of suspected abuse and neglect in regards to the minor Harry James Potter had been found in the Child Services database. All those involved had cut off their investigations and left their line of work with no warning. None could recall a boy named Harry Potter. Foul play was suspected when six of the thirty-seven caseworkers, school nurses and police officers displayed erratic behaviour ranging from confusion to memory lapses to short periods of catatonia when questioned about the boy and why they left their previous jobs, which most of them had been passionate about.

Dudley wound up in an institution for children and youths with mental disorders after being diagnosed as a psychotic sociopath.

As for the now nine-year-old Harry Potter, he was bounced from foster home to foster home, orphanage to orphanage, case-worker to case-worker, as a line of accidents and misfortunes followed him, putting three paedophiles, two rapists of teenage foster girls, a ring of child-slavers and a number of abusive carers and negligent case-workers in jail or on trial.

There was a complete overhaul of the system when the media caught wind of young Harry's 'ordeal'.

No one suspected that the demon, and so Harry, could sense those against whom Vengeance was demanded by the wronged, and to what extent, and subconsciously manipulated events so as to be more able to go after these 'victims' on which the demon preyed to gain power.

The day Harry Potter was re-introduced to the Wizarding World, he passed seven Death Eaters, fifteen serial rapists, a potioneer who like to experiment on non-human sentient beings and muggles, several malicious gossips and a whole range of various petty evil-doers and politicians.

It was a busy week for St Mungos, Azkahban and The Morgue.

Harry's powers spiked dramatically and continued to climb to the point where other demon-possessed beings were giving the demonic boy a wide berth.

When he arrived at the school, several of Harry's year-mates nearly drowned when their boat tipped and the squid wanted to 'play' with them. They were all sorted into Slytherin.

So was Harry.

By the next morning, there was an influx of aurors and healers coming and going from the school due to the large amounts of accidents that had happened overnight, as well as the fourteen suicides and the fatal potions accident that took the life of Potions Master Severus Snape when he came upon two red-headed twins brewing a potion, using his body as a shield to protect the twins and dying a hero when it became unstable. The Weasley twins never pranked again.

Those who knew what happened to Professor Quirinus Quirrel tried valiantly to repress their memories of his agonising and gory death as he was caught between two of the moving staircases, the unicorn blood drawing out what would have been a relatively quick death.

That fate of Albus Dumbledore was ever after only whisper of under bright light and protective talismans. And never, ever after dark.

Harry Potter went on to be the greatest head of the DMLE in the history of the Magical World and only Luna Potter nee Lovegood and their children ever saw the brilliantly beautiful green scales and barbed frill of his true form.

The Vengeance Demon continued until the end of Creation as 'The Harrier', Demon Lord of Vengence and Just Hand of the Wronged.


	11. Dark Magnificence

**Disclaimer****:I do not own Harry Potter or anything Disney Related.**

I don't know why, but Malificent always kind of struck me as someone who would make a good mother or guardian.

* * *

><p>Malificent was Dark.<p>

Malificent was Cruel.

…Malificent was Kind.

The tall dark sorceress cradled the whimpering toddler in her arms as she knelt and brushed the red locks out of the face of the child's mother.

Empty green eyes stared back, the remnants of tears still clinging to the dark lashes.

The Dark fairy stood, shifting her long staff to her free hand as her raven cawed a warning outside the smouldering house.

With a wave of her hand, her hobnobs jumped out of the shadows and crevices and began to carry away everything in the house, fire freezing mid-flicker while everything was carried out the back door.

The last things to be quietly carried off to Malificent's Sithen were two glass coffins containing the bodies of the child's parents.

Sirius Black and Rubius Hagrid entered the house just as Malificent disappeared with her new charge in a flare of Avada Kedava green flame.

The frozen fires flickered back to life. Most of the house was saved, for all that it was empty.

**(space)**

Harry had always been loved; he knew that.

For all the Sithen he lived in was Dark and the hobnobs were malicious, his Aunt Malificent had always been there if he wanted or needed her.

Sometimes he would go down into the Night Garden and visit his parents' glass coffins, surrounded by moonflowers and moonlilies and other fairy flowers that attracted will-o'-the-wisps, their faces still untouched by death and time.

He could often be found in Malificent's study where many of his fondest memories were made. His fondest were of snuggling into robes of black and purple or lying beneath the workbench at his Aunt's feet, watching the warm fire flickering in the dark room, the scritch-scratch of his Aunt's quill over parchment, the wind through the halls and the distant raucous laughter of the hobnobs breaking the silence of the night.

When he was about seven, Malificent taught the boy how to shapeshift into a dragon. Thereafter, the pony-sized black dragonet with his big green eyes was only human-shaped for meals, lessons and bed-time.

Malificent figured he'd outgrow that stage before he became too big to fit through doorways.

Harry's eleventh birthday marked the first time he could recall leaving the Sithen.

The uproar when a Dark Fey Lady and her Changeling-Child entered Diagon Alley in a procession of hobnobs was enormous, seeing as how it was pretty much common knowledge to the wizards and witches of Britain that the Fey were extinct.

Apparently not so much.

None in the Wizarding World could ever remember seeing a goblin grovel before.


	12. Pragmatic

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliates.

This story has aspects taken from L.K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series.

* * *

><p>Harold James Potter, brother of Charles Evan Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, eldest and less-loved son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Rosemary Potter nee Evans, ran away from home a week before his sixteenth birthday after receiving his inheritance from his deceased Godfather, Sirius Orion Black.<p>

It was a simple matter of converting Galleons to Pounds and transferring the money into a muggle bank before booking it across the channel to France where the age of majority was sixteen in the Wizarding World.

No one noticed him missing for two days, and no one looked for him until September 1st, thinking he'd come back on his own.

Even with the War now in full swing.

Harry proceeded to grow his hair out with a potion, dyed it from dark brown-black to black-black and got contact lenses. From there, Harry got a job as a waiter at a cafe and a kitchenhand at an Italian restaurant while taking classes in correspondence from Beauxbatons.

Harry passed his NEWTs with five Outstandings and three Exceeds Expectations, being offered and accepting the offer of a Traineeship in Magical Creature Control and Protection with the French Ministry immediately afterwards.

During this time, after the initial Howlers from his parents when he didn't return to school and requested educational documents from his time at Hogwarts, there had been complete communicational silence from his 'family' and 'friends', with the single exception of Luna Lovegood, who wrote him the odd letter of even odder ramblings every month or so.

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or pissed off that he could disappear so easily with no one caring.

**(space)**

It was the summer of 2002, three weeks before his 22nd birthday that Harry opened his imported copy of the Daily Prophet to the headline of : _'BOY-WHO-LIVED KILLED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO!'._

While Harry couldn't really bring himself to be either surprised or all that upset that Charles was pushing up daisies, flame of life gone, there remained the disgruntled knowledge that Harry knew that he was the actual defeater of Voldemort, and that Voldemort knew that as well.

As such, being the rather pragmatic individual he was, Harry quit his job in the French Ministry, packed up his small apartment and fucked off to America.

His former apartment building went up in Fiend Fire before he had even left the country.

**(space)**

Within a week of arriving in America and taking a bus from Nevada to Washinton DC to Kansas City and finally to St Louise, Harry had a job in the muggle world four nights a week and another job in the Magical World as a Magical Wildlife Control Officer three days a week.

During his time in St Louise, Harry, through no design of his own, wound up dating one of the resident Master Vampires, a stunningly beautiful man named Adrian.

Despite everyone's belief of Harry being an independent and strong lone wolf, Harry actually enjoyed being subservient to and being protected by his lover.

Harry, after all, being a pragmatic individual with strong survival instincts and a functional work ethic, was smart enough to know when he could be confident enough to be lazy and dependant.

Harry liked being a kept boyfriend, and the fact that the dominant in the relationship was a Master Vampire gave the Man-Who-Lived-To-Bolt quite a bit of protection.

No even Voldemort would be stupid enough to challenge a thousands-of-years old vampire like Adrian.

Who, for his part, was under the impression that Harry was merely a powerful Sensitive with some telekinetic abilities, rather than a full-blown wizard.

It was about five in the evening, about an hour before dusk, three years later, when Harry answered the door of the house he shared with Adrian, two of his fledglings and a werewolf to find Albus Freaking Dumbledore and his 'parents' on his doorstep.

Predictably, his response was a firm "No" and the door being slammed in their smiling faces.

Did that stop them? No.

Harry actually snarled at the three when they magiked the door open and waltzed into the house like they owned the place, babbling about how Harry was _Destined_ to defeat You-Know-Who and that as the _Prophecy Child_ it was his _Duty_ and _Privilege_ to save _The World_ from his _Evil Nemesis_.

It should be noted that, aside from that attack on Harry in France and a few hits on fleeing British magic-users, Voldemort was pretty content to stay on the island.

Harry could feel the muscle beside his left eye start to twitch while his pasted-on smile pulled back from his teeth in an increasingly angry snarl.

The werewolf, Lance, hovered in the doorway with three of his packmates, Dan, Sam and Jonathan, just out of the wizards and witch's line of sight. Lance had never seen the ever placid and practical Harry truly annoyed, let alone this towering, homicidal rage that was manifesting in astral winds around him.

Adrian was going to be pissed, Lance knew. He had a tendency to hunt down and _ruin, _if not mangle or murder, anyone who upset or threatened his lover.

Not that Harry was entirely aware of that, of course. He thought that, while powerful and a Master Vampire, Adrian was a quiet, placid scholar. Adrian had actually been a born and bred Spartan in life, and a General for the Vampire Council for a few centuries a while back. He had just learnt to be patient. Like a snake.

Harry managed to stand, body-language screaming 'FUCK-OFF' and smile-snarling, at the three magic-users who had made themselves comfortable on _His_ white leather couch for almost ten minutes before he snapped during a truly saccharine and guilt-trip ridden monologue from Dumbledore, causing him to cut in rudely.

The werewolves were surprised. The Harry they knew was never rude.

"This sounds like an incredibly touching story...but I don't have time or inclination to hear it right now. To be perfectly frank, I have more pride and self-respect than to be dragged into a war on behalf of a faction that neglected, despised and deliberately stunted my abilities based on a stupid prophecy that wouldn't have come into play had you chosen not to pay it any attention. Now, if you would be so good as to _fuck off_, I have to get ready for my night job as a stripper."

With that, Harry turned around and stalked out of the living room while Lance and his packmates moved in to forcibly evict the stunned magic-users.

Harry was gone when Adrian awoke at sunset twenty minutes later. When Lance conveyed what he had heard, learned and seen, Adrian was most unamused.

And having the distinct desire to mangle his lover's 'parents'.

* * *

><p>Kind of like the who 'Eff-Off and Deal With It Yourself' Harry.<p> 


	13. Frozen

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or Transformers.

Just a random but enjoyable thing I came up with. Might continue it.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was a Cybertronian Aerial-Type of the Seeker frame set.<p>

He didn't know how.

He didn't know why.

He just was from one moment to the next.

After the Wizarding War, he had been kidnapped from the Infirmary right after the Battle of Hogwarts by the Unspeakables of the International Confederation of Wizards and broken. His mind had been shattered and rebuilt from the foundations up, then shattered again and rebuilt when they weren't happy with the first mindset they forced upon him.

For seven years, he had been the ICWs dog and assassin, killing any and all he was sent after, from rising Dark Lords, to a high-up member's bastard newborn child. Heavy with despair and unable to escape around the slave-spells woven into his psyche, he had called out with his heart and mind into the Darkness repeatedly for years.

Mere moments before he had dropped in his traces, soul as gone from his wizard body as any dementor victim's, he had felt something reply.

Then he had woken up, trapped far beneath the arctic ice in some kind of pod.

The frame, for all that Harry knew it was very old, also felt like it was little more than an adolescent in some ways, and an infant in others.

His frame was pure matte black with long legs, over-sized gargoyle-like talons on his fingers and a full facemask like a futuristic blacked-out rioter's helmet. His large wings were sectioned and folded like a bird's around his frame as though he was huddling in them.

Observing the riot of programs filtering across the screen and disappearing as soon as he thought of them, read them and then dismissed them, easy as thinking, Harry brought up his designation.

The direct English translation of his name would be '_One Who Harries: __to harass, annoy, or prove a nuisance to by or as if by repeated attacks__'_. So, even in an alien body, his name was Harry.

An inquiry popped up in his processing screen, asking if he wanted to send out a distress beacon.

He agreed and settled back to watching a monk seal swim around the underwater ice peaks above his pod, semi-buried in the ocean floor.

A month later, his pod was excavated by a human organization called Sector Seven, and Harry was sent into stasis-lock when they filled his pod with the gas form of liquid nitrogen.

His last thought was, '_This is why I don't like humans…'_

**(space)**

When next Harry came online, his frame was still unmoving, frozen in place, but his visor was protecting his faceplates and parts of his processor from the brunt of the cold, while his still-curved wings shielded parts of his fuel lines.

Across from him, Harry could see what looked like another of his kind, also frozen in place, with a snarl on his face and only a small amount of light in his optics, showing that he was online and fully aware as to what the human scientists were doing to them.

Registering a small brand on the edge of the opposite mechanoid's left pauldron, a brief scan into his own processors provided Harry with the information that this other of his kind ('mech' a part of his diction programs put forward) was a Decepticon. Further scanning of information showed that Harry's frame had been built by the Decepticon Military Faction during something called the 'Golden Age of Cybertron', and that he had been on a scouting vessel that had been sucked into a freak warp-hole, meaning, according to his chronometer, he had been out of touch with anything Cybertronian for a very long time, possibly the human equivalent of centuries.

Seeing no other options, Harry sent a short-range databurst to the other mech, simply stating '_Designation: Harry; One-Who-Harries:__ to harass, annoy, or prove a nuisance to by or as if by repeated attacks. Decepticon Military Faction. Created XXX-XX of GAC(__**1)**__. Rendered in stasis due to crashing of scouting vessel XXXX-XX of GAC.'_

There was a few clicks of silence before the other mech responded, possibly due to the cold slowing his processors.

'_Designation: Lord High Protector Megatron; one million accelerating atomic particles. Supreme Overlord of Decepticon Faction. Rendered in stasis upon crashing into upper hemisphere of this planet XXYYX-YY Post-GAC, in pursuit of the Allspark.'_

A series of data-packages followed this databurst within clicks. Harry opened one and found it was, in fact, a collection of this history 'he' had missed while in stasis, up to and including the End of the Golden Age, the Rebellion and the War that Tore Apart Cybertron.

Harry assimilated the data-packages rapidly, his processors switching into high gear and occasionally asking for clarification or requesting more information from the mech who was, apparently, his ultimate superior within the Decepticon ranks. This led to a long and in-depth academic discussion and tactics lesson between the two.

Because, honestly, the Autobot Supreme Council had it coming if even a quarter of those things were true.

According to records, NBE-2 was discovered by Sector Seven 23rd August 2004 after intercepting a signal which began on the 31st of July that year.

A lot of time had passed at a crawl and Lord Megatron had come a long way towards being a stable and more thoughtful Overlord rather than the rambling, single-minded wreck he had been before Harry had arrived.

There was still a deep-seated hatred of humans, but he was now able to focus on Harry to almost the exclusion of all else as they discussed why certain battle plans succeeded or failed, why this faction chose to join the Decepticons and that one didn't, while the human scientists examined and experimented and dissected around them.

Megatron was thinking again after so long of irrationality.

Harry put forward, in a mild, jesting manner, that perhaps Megatron had been infected with a subtle chimera virus.

Megatron was silent for some time, rather than brushing the comment to the side or raging at Harry. Perhaps three breems of silence later, Megatron reluctantly admitted that many of his Core Functions had been altered and/or corrupted.

Registering a pop-up, Harry pondered to Megatron if the Resonance of a Lord High Protector hadn't spread a Distortion Effect to those of similar make and function.

There was some further discussion (all of which ultimately boiled down to "…I'm not apologizing.") before Harry noted that there was some considerable movement amongst the humans.

After a time, a group of non-scientist humans arrived. There were a number of soldiers, four young people, an older man in a suit and some of the agents.

Harry and Megatron ignored them right up until one of the young humans, a boy, named Megatron and seemed to know the bare basics of the War from the Autobot perspective.

If he'd have been able to, Harry would have vented when Megatron's attention shifted to the humans and he began to helplessly seethe at them, unable to correct the human Youngling even if he wanted to. Especially when, just at the edges of their audio range, they picked up the sound of another mech screaming.

Noticing a flash of silver moving quickly across the floor, Harry drew Megatron's attention to it, providing a live-media datastream feed to the older mech when the little creature skittered out of his sight.

'_Frenzy.'_ Megatron sent absently as he turned the mini-bot's presence over in his processer. '_A symbiotic Spark attached to my Communications Officer and Third In Command, Soundwave. He is an old model nearly extinct even before the war. It is likely that we will be free soon.'_

Curious and a little cautious, Harry sent back, '_And then?'_

'_Freedom first, then take stock of what is happening. We will plan from there.' _There was a pause from Harry's Faction Leader. '_I won't let any harm come to you, Youngling. Stay close and to my back right. Don't say anything until the situation is resolved, especially to Starscream, if he is near. If anything happens to me, you are to go to Soundwave and he will keep you safe until you are able to stand on your own.'_

'_And if the All-Spark is nearby?'_ Harry inquired, settling when he was reassured that he wouldn't be left behind again. He didn't do well anymore if he didn't have someone to follow.

Megatron was silent for a few clicks, considering before he spoke slower than usual across the link they had jerry-rigged between them. '_If you see a chance to retrieve it, do so, but not at risk to yourself. If you do manage to get it, you are to give it to no one but myself, unless I am offlined. Keep it secret and safe until the war ends, then take it to whomever you believe will not abuse its power. If necessary, I want you to rebuild our populations with it, away from the war.'_

Had he been able to, Harry would have drooped is shoulders and wings in resignation. '_Understood. But can you try not to? You are the only mech I know. I won't be known to the other Decepticons and will possibly be offlined before I can say much.'_

'_Hmm.' _Megatron rumbled in thought as sirens began to wail around them, lights flashing as the constant flow of nitrogen was cut off. '_I shall try. As soon as we are out, I will tell Starscream you are to report to Soundwave if anything happens to me, though he may attempt to contest the order as you are a Seeker and, as such, technically under his command as the Wing Commander.'_

Harry twitched his wings, ice breaking off in sheets as he started his turbines going, swatting away a few erract scientists as he continued dialogue. '_What of the little mech, Frenzy? He will likely be offlined or worse in this place. There are too many humans.'_

Megatron, shaking off his own sheets of is and humans, looked at Harry for a moment, face-plate finally free of the snarl it had been contorted in for so long. He vented and nodded_. "__**Even on so small should not be left behind in these times."**_

Harry shivered his wings in a whole new manner as he heard his Lord's vocalisation for the first time. Across the link, there was only glyphs to carry across meaning and emotion, so Harry had idly been imagining the warlord's voice for some time. The vocalisation was everything he had hoped it would be; deep, rumbling and just on the edge of jagged-rough. And authoritive. Already programs were rerouting and coming out of dormancy in response. Only a handful were identified with 'carnal pleasure'.

Harry was vaguely aware of Megatron sending out a communications link as he looked around at the scrambling humans. The Megatron was passing the little silver mech to Harry. "_**Keep him with you and stay up and back at all times."**_

"_**Yes, Megatron."**_ Harry noted absently that his own vocaliser was set to about the same as his own human voice had been, only it vibrated like it had when he had spoken through a moving fan as a child. The little silver mech made a disapproving squawk in his servos.

Harry just shoved the little creature into what his programs identified as a 'sparkling-hold'.

Then he and Megatron were transforming and-

A shudder ran through Harry's frame as he registered that flying by far outstripped what he remembered of sex through sheer pleasurable sensory input.

Golden Age of Cybertron.

Nort5h

L679-ayfy-jpwn


	14. Diamond Eyes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Shinedown or anything recognised as belonging to someone else. I do, however, own the concept of the aptly named Jarvey in this fic.**

Might do a spin-off of this fic later.

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><p><em>Boom-Lay Boom-Lay BOOM!<br>One push is all you'll need  
>Boom-Lay Boom-Lay BOOM!<br>A fist first philosophy  
>Boom-Lay Boom-Lay BOOM!<br>We watch with wounded eyes  
>Boom-Lay Boom-Lay BOOM!<br>So I hope you recognize_

_I'm on the front line_  
><em>don't worry I'll be fine<em>  
><em>the story is just beginning<em>  
><em>I say goodbye to my weakness<em>  
><em>so long to the regret<em>  
><em>and now I know that I'm alive<em>  
><em>I'm on the front line<em>  
><em>don't worry I'll be fine<em>  
><em>the story is just beginning<em>  
><em>I say goodbye to my weakness<em>  
><em>so long to the regret<em>  
><em>and now I see the world through diamond eyes<em>

~_Diamond Eyes, b_y Shinedown

Harry had been trapped in a Golden Cage of Expectations. Honestly, he had had more freedom when he had been dancing to Dumbledore's tune.

Now, after both Dumbledore and Voldemort were pushing up daisies, flame of life gone, shuffled of the Mortail Coil, he wasn't even being given the illusion of choice.

The plans for his wedding to Ginevra Weasely were well on the way and he was suppose to be _happy_ that he was being married next month to the Gryffindor bicycle when he hadn't shown any interest in dating the chit, let alone proposing, since sixth year.

He was being touted about at functions by his 'best mates' and the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in between the Auror boot camp lessons he'd been forcibly drafted into.

He hadn't even been allowed to return for his seventh year at Hogwarts, or to see his godson, Teddy...

...And he was so ungodly _pissed._

Honesty, the only one unsurprised when he snapped at a ball, both literally and figuratively cursed the Ministry staff and his 'friends', and spent the next two weeks on a bar and club crawl through London, was Luna Lovegood, who was kind enough to give him a portkey to the Rook so he had somewhere safe to sleep while drunk, high or just tired.

It was at the end of the two weeks, as he was flat on his back, high as a kite and as booze sodden as a barman's barcloth, staring up at the odd little gremlins and fairies painted onto the ceiling of the Rook's guest room, that he began to ponder what he was going to do with himself now.

No doubt everyone but Luna, Xeno Lovegood (Great Maker of Mead and Grower of Weed) and, perhaps, Neville Longbottom, probably thought this was a phase and that he would turn up on time for 'his' wedding and apologize for 'being a pillock' (Ron's words, according to Neville, who was visiting Luna to check on Harry every so often under the guise of 'dating').

Thereafter, Harry moved everything he owned out of Gringotts to avoid monstrous payments and into the Lovegoods basement, which he began renting, and began going through the old books to see if there was anything interesting he could do with his life.

Weed (the drug kind, not the annoying plants you pull from your garden kind) had certain odd effects on certain magical bloodlines. For the Lovegoods, it allowed them to see into several different Astral Planes at once. For the Potters, it caused Enhanced Probability Manipulation, while the LeRouges, from Lily's squib grandmother's side, it allowed the person to plan for every Foreseeable Variable.

Then there was the mostly dormant Peverell blood. It has been lost to time (and was probably not mentioned in the first place), that the three Peverell brothers, on that fateful day when they met and defeated Death, were stoned off their rockers. When stoned blotto, the Peverell Special Memory can glimmer through, like a usually muddy pond that occasionally clears enough to see vague glimpses of the depths below. Because the mind rebels, the Special Memory only allows for impressions to leak through, so if one asks themselves if they should go to the market tomorrow, the Memory would translate through the brain as saying not 'If you go to the market tomorrow, you will have all you money stolen, get into a brawl that spills out onto the street and then have to walk home in the rain after losing your car keys. Best go the day after and win the Lucky Meat Draw.' but rather 'No, don't do that. Something bad will happen tomorrow. Maybe the day after...'. The human brain rebels at the idea of Remembering tomorrow, and next year, and what would happen if I date this girl, also what if I choose to date _this_ girl instead and I'm going to be hit by a car in three years, four months, fifteen days, four hours and twenty-two minutes unless I choose to go down that street instead at that point in time.

Such an existence would likely be very boring.

The Black ability, if it could be called such, would likely have been called the 'Evil Genius' ability…if Blacks ever got stoned, that is. (It would totally explain Sirius' behaviour in Sixth and Seventh Year, though.)

Harry inherited all four effects, and so was only peripherally aware of what he was doing in Luna's basement with those books, that chalk, a complex sigils array and a deranged-looking, grinning and tie-dyed albino jarvey aptly named 'Prick'.

Harry was very surprised to wake up one morning in an unknown bed, in an unknown room and in a slightly off body when he distinctly remembered locking and warding his basement for a siege on the day of 'his' wedding, getting drunk and baked with Luna, Xeno and Neville while Prick grinned on like a psychedelic Cheshire cat, occasionally cussing them out good-naturedly while Harry's 'friends' hammered on the door and shouted.

…Then Neville had inquired about the array…

Thereafter was naught but brief flickers of light, the impression of vertigo, Luna's tinkling laughter and Prick loudly questioning Harry's mother's pedigree and sexual proclivities.

And as another mind crashed into his own, Harry could only think-

"_Fuck yes! Adventure time!"_

**()space**

Harridan, Concubine of Lord Voldemort, Supreme Overlord of Wizarding Europe, did not wake from the magical coma the unknown attack by an unknown assailant caused for the three weeks it took for Harridan and Harry to hash out a truce.

Harry Potter, prior to his trip into another dimension with the rest of his little basement party, was well and truly snapped, cheese off the cracker and moulding on the floor, mad as a hatter with twice the charm, more cuckooed than a cuckoo bird and generally an Agent of Chaotic Madness. This, combined with the complete lack of anything resembling inhibitions brought on by weeks as a lush, shameless slut and club rat, predicably brought into being a generally likable, eccentric and mischievous minx with few morals and high sex appeal/drive. Also, very, _very_ dangerous when torqued off, as a few left-over Death Eaters found out the hard (and frankly gory) way.

Harridan LeStrange, having been raised by Bellatrix and Rudolphus LeStrange after being taken by Voldemort on a night where Pettigrew had been babysitting, was a cold, repressed and quiet young man who had lived by a strict set of rules and boundaries which, when the line was even slightly toed by a cat's paw, resulted in punishment that was promptly healed scar-less while leaving the pain and some trauma. Voldemort had taken the flawless and primped Harridan to his bed when the boy was only thirteen, and had continued to do so whenever he was at Castle Slytherin, where Harridan was kept in what was akin to an all-male Harem with only himself and a few exceptionally beautiful muggleborns and half-bloods he was kept separate from, spending the majority of his time in solitude, painting, sewing and tending to his small, harmless garden, knowing barely anything about magic that wasn't hygiene and cosmetic charms. His wand was even blocked to disallow any potentially dangerous spells.

When Harry and Harridan merged, the bindings on Harridan's magical core and pathways was shattered as Harry's core conjoined then merged with his own, doubling the size and widening the coils. The fluid crashing and wrestling of the two minds also removed the mental conditioning, limiters and compulsions like they were fragile cookie walls to ocean waves.

Harry's madness, recklessness, unpredictability and listless, all-consuming desire for freedom and entertainment met with Harridan's colder, calculating anger, ability to compartmentalize and a repressed homicidal vengeful streak.

And something very dangerous was born.


	15. Lost Winters

**Disclaimer:****I do not own Harry Potter or Overlord2.**

**Some semi-explicit scenes so be aware.**

* * *

><p><em>"I am what I am. I would tell you what you want to know if I could, for you have been kind to me. But I am a cat, and no cat anywhere ever gave anyone a straight answer."<em>  
>~Peter S. Beagle, <em>The Last Unicorn<em>

* * *

><p>As the cold of Azkhaban ate into his bones, wind howling like wolves along the stone ramparts, Harry started to remember the little girl with reddish- russet hair and pale grey eyes who was always following the hooded and masked boy with glowing golden eyes and patterned blue skin. They used to let him play with them, making forts in the snow.<p>

Harry Potter didn't know how he met them or how he got there and back to the Dursleys' every night, but the three years he spent wandering around the town of Nordburg with the two like a small pack of starved wolves in a lean winter was the closest that he felt to having family…

It was only now that he was remembering Kelda and her Witch-Boy that he was able to recognise what he had been trying to bring out in the friends he had had at Hogwarts. Luna and Neville had come much closer than Ron or Hermione. Having truly suffered in their childhoods, Luna and Neville had that _edge_ that Harry had; the slightest edge of desperation, fear of outsiders, the base feral instinct to _survive_ in a world that saw you as prey, banding together in a hierarchy that left behind those who couldn't contribute or keep up.

Harry remembered how the three children used to curl up and sleep in a hollowed-out snowbank, bundled up in stray blankets and sharing body heat. Witch-boy eventually began lending the little boy a spare set of clothes so he didn't freeze to death. Harry supposed that this was why he felt more comfortable sleeping in a nest of blankets instead of lying straight in bed like most people.

Thinking back into those shards of memories, Harry could remember, vaguely, Dumbledore being there and saying his behaviour was unacceptable when he went back to the Dursleys one day. There was the vague impression that Harry was planning to move his scant belongings to Witch-Boy's den and live in Nordburg.

Harry suspected that Dumbledore had suppressed aspects of Harry's personality at that point; dulled the edges and chained the burgeoning predatory instincts, so to speak; made him meek and pliable.

It had probably been the Dementors on the train at the start of third year that had loosened the chains and chipped away the false curves sheathing the jagged edges… His first instinct upon waking to an unknown man in his face had, after all, being an instinct to attack, subconsciously recognising a threat.

As he fell deeper into his instincts during the year from the increasing exposure to the Dementors, not even the Slytherins were willing to make sudden movements around the increasingly edgy boy who began acting more and more like a skittish wolf after he abandoned the Quidditch game to physically attack the Slytherins dressed as Dementors. They received twelve days in the Infirmary; he received a month of detentions and an official warning.

At the end of the year, as Harry had watched Remus Lupin pack up his office, the man had given a worn smile to the youth. "You are most definitely the most _beta_ young man I have ever met, and I envy the person you will bow to as _alpha_, whomever that person shall be."

Remus joined as the pack _omega_, Moony identifying so strongly into the pack hierarchy that he wouldn't even attack his pack in the throes of the moon madness. Sirius was Harry's _beta_ after the green-eyed boy was put into the position of _alpha_, Padfoot being all sharp teeth and fierce aggression in defence of _alpha_ and pack. Luna, shockingly, was also a _beta_, being creatively vicious and using her seemingly harmless madness to draw in her prey. Neville had been a _zeta_, the pack peacemaker and soldier.

Many others had come and gone within his pack; Alastor Moody, the Weasley Twins, Blaise Zabini and the Creevy Brothers to name a few. They fought and won and fell and avenged their brothers and sisters in the name of Pack…

But now his pack was dead or scattered or imprisoned through betrayal.

They couldn't kill Harry because of the Deathly Hollows, though they tried in a variety of ways, but they could lock him away.

Dumbledore had taken over in the aftermath and deemed Harry and his pack too dangerous to society to live, despite all the lives they had saved. Before the public could rise up and protest (and they _did_), the captured members of the pack were either killed resisting arrest or hung in the Ministry Atrium the day after the Final Battle down to the youngest babe in arms or womb.

…It turned out that Hermione was infinitely more loyal than anyone gave her credit for. Despite never having joined the pack after it formed and standing back in the war, something had snapped in the girl when she saw the sixty-eight members of the pack, both active and honorary, of all ages, hanging from nooses while the Order of the Phoenix cheered.

After the uprising of the public had been violently put down by the Order, Hermione had managed to get herself the position of Senior Undersecretary. She struck like a true member of the pack when everyone had let down their guards and she had their habits and routines memorised.

Rather than poison Dumbledore through food or gas, clever Hermione had rubbed samples of Nundu Breath upon Minister Dumbledore's chair and desk and quills. It was a horrible way to died, the girl reminisced from the cell opposite Harry's.

Molly Weasley had swelled up with fat until her skin literally burst in gouts of blubber and blood and oil in the Atrium. Arthur Weasley had been strangled by his own cursed neck scarf, just loose enough to drag things out. Ronald Weasley found himself insatiably hungry and, once he started, couldn't stop. Ginevra Weasley was found dead in a ditch several days later from an embarrassing social disease contracted from intercourse with crups. The list went on and on.

The new Ministry fell within a day.

Even now, the girl with her big bushy hair was huddled up as close to the bars she could get to be closer to Harry, having regressed to the innocent eleven year old she had been when they met.

Still, some of the pack escaped. Harry could feel them at the edges of his consciousness when he was on the edge of sleep. They were very angry, ravaging along the edges of the Ministry like starved wolves in winter. The people were on their side, making it harder to find them.

Sometimes he threw his mind out further, listlessly seeking his Witch-Boy _alpha_ and Kelda _den-mother_.

It took a few years, dipping and swirling through the small cracks into other worlds, before he brushed against the sleeping mind of his _alpha_, bringing forth fond memories of their time together and prodding the _angry/betrayed/sad_ node that appeared when Green-Eyes stopped coming back, prodding it into curiosity and '_where did he go/what happened/why did he leave' _desire to know.

Harry hung around for a few days, but had to return for sustenance for his body and to move the joints.

It was later that month that the wizards moved him from his tiny hole in the wall in the frigid tower, down into a newly opened up crypt in the cellars of Azkhaban. The cell was permanently dark, only four foot high, three feet across and five feet deep. It was cold, wet and he was only fed once every two days. The walls were covered in magic-suppressing sigils. And it was completely silent but for the constant drip of water.

Harry survived by daydreaming. Then dreaming so deeply into himself that his Self receded to the deepest depths of his Core.

He missed when the screams above changed nearly a year later.

He missed when Hermione staggered into the newly- illuminated darkness, followed by small gremlins with glowing eyes.

He missed the armour-clad blue arms carrying him through a Waypoint Gate.

**(space)**

When Harry finally woke up, he didn't know it, but three years had passed since he fell In.

The first thing he became aware of was that it was warm, then that there was _sound_ (an odd giggling and the scamper of feet and an odd sound like the pop of a bubble in a viscous liquid, all in the background). Someone was breathing deeply and heavily into his ear, probably asleep, and a heart beat strongly under his cheek.

As he became more aware, he found that there was a naked, feminine body spooning him from behind, breasts pressed against his shoulders and arms wrapped round his middle. Against his front was definitely a broad, powerfully muscled male body, lying half on its side and an arm thrown across both Harry and the female. Harry's head was lying in the crook of this male's shoulder, hence the heartbeat.

Harry opened his eyes to find a wall of deep blue skin patterned with whirls of ash-white dots and the occasional curl of a long blue-black lock of hair. A pale hand with long slender fingers and short, neat nails came up to begin tracing along the whirls and the sharp lines of muscle. After a few moments of sleepy thought, Harry realised that it was his own hand.

There was the smell of hot metal and salty sweat and warm skin and a vaguely familiar smell Harry associated with Home.

A much larger blue hand covered in rough calluses and small scars came up and caught his own.

"Are you awake this time?" A deep, sleep-rough voice rumble-murmured from the chest his head was laying on.

Harry hummed as he lazily studied the black nails on the large hand holding his. "Perhaps." He agreed, his own voice was little more than a raspy whisper, drawing pangs of pain from his throat.

The chest briefly tensed beneath him before the larger hand released his own, reaching up to tilt Harry's face up to the scrutiny of Kelda's Witch-Boy.

The face was broad and handsome, with a small black beard, long ringlets of thick blue-black hair, and solid golden eyes glowing like Felix Felicis. It was a very masculine face, unlike Harry's own sharply waifish, fey-like features with his sharp chin, large green eyes and bone-pale skin.

Witch-Boy was frowning, a slight down-turn of lips and a crease between inky brows, eyes searching. Those hard eyes relaxed into something like relief.

"You _are_ awake this time, aren't you, Green-Eyes." It was more a statement than a question. Harry hummed in agreement, blinking sleepily up at the man, a smile curling his lips just a tad.

The young wizard was more than a little startled to suddenly find himself being kissed rather aggressively with teeth and tongue, but didn't mind too much; his childhood being a mix of abusive neglect and wolfish puppy piles, instilling an insatiable, gender indiscriminate flesh-hunger in its wake.

It was only the confused query of "Witch-Boy?" in a feminine Nordbergian accent that caused the Overlord to pull up for air, causing Harry to become aware that he'd been pressed into the mattress with the large man on top of him, dislodging the woman in the process.

"He's awake." The man growled possessively, eyes not leaving Harry's flushed face and bruised lips.

Harry, for his part, turned his head to look at the woman who had been behind him, unsurprised that it was-

"Kelda." Harry rasped in greeting, smiling at the woman.

In the brief moment he had to study the woman before she lunged at him, unseating Witch-Boy, her skin appeared to have lost the slight redness and windburn it had had last he had seen her when drifting, her hair now curling around her collarbone.

It was only then that Harry became aware that not only were all three of them naked in a bed, they were _naked,_ with all the body functions of the newly awakened.

Harry was by no means a virgin, having slept with both men and woman, had sex and made love, virgins and veterans, been on top and on the bottom, but there was something almost familiar about the slow-fast copulation between the three of them. They had sex almost like they had fought as children, Witch-Boy going hard and fast, Harry vicious with his hair pulling, scratching and cheap shots, and Kelda dancing along the edges and coming in from behind with full-body blows.

Either way, Harry wasn't happy that he could only last two rounds before he was forced to lay back in a haze for the two to finish. He'd been catatonic for too long.

It was when he was in a daze, straddling Witch-Boy's lap and hands digging into blue shoulders, mouth occupied with Kelda (make of that what you will), that he realized that there were glowing yellow eyes watching them from the windows, and a very angry, very beautiful woman with red hair was seething in the doorway, while another beautiful woman with dark curls and olive skin was gaping a bit behind her, obviously a little turned on.

Harry moaned and pulled away a bit.

"Friends of yours?" He rasped.

Witch-boy looked up and around the room, a deep growl rumbling out and teeth bared. "Out!" He roared.

The yellow-eyed creatures all squealed and scampered off, while the red-haired woman turned and stormed off, the brunette glanced over the trio on the bed with an appraising gaze before following, pulling the rope that was keeping one of the partition curtains open, closed.

Not long after, Harry passed out.

(**space)**

When Harry woke again, Witch-boy was gone, his head was in Kelda's lap and he was aching in a rather pleasant way he hadn't felt since he'd been involved in that vampire 'gathering'.

"I wouldn't if I was you." Kelda spoke from above him.

"I have no idea what you mean." A woman's smooth, noble-accented voice spoke from across the room.

Kelda snorted, hand running through Harry's hair and gently scratching like one would a cat or dog. "You're thinking about how to get rid of Green-Eyes. Don't try to deny it; it's written on your face. And I'm telling you now, go against Green-Eyes in any way, and Witch-Boy will make you suffer."

The other woman huffed and strode towards the bed. "I don't see what's so special about him. He's pretty in a waifish way, but he still can't compare to even you when it comes to bedroom wiles. Too skinny."

Kelda sighed. "Not everything has to do with how good someone is in the bedroom, though he is surprisingly quite talented," Harry could hear the approving smirk in her voice, "Green-Eyes was Witch-Boy's friend even before I was. Green-Eyes was almost completely dependent on Witch-Boy for pretty much everything since they met. When he disappeared, Witch-Boy spent the next two years looking for him. Now that we know that he was taken by a wizard for his magical power and his memories of us erased, chances are that Green-Eyes won't be leaving the Tower without Witch-Boy for a very long time. Witch-Boy won't allow it."

The other woman hummed. "So it's possessiveness for a new toy…" She speculated.

"Perhaps." Kelda murmured. "But I'm willing to bet that what Witch-Boy feels for Green-Eyes is the closest to love as he will ever get."

Harry smiled into Kelda's bare belly.


End file.
